The Decennial Pardon
by AidanSankowsky
Summary: On every decade since the first Hunger Games, one district is spared from the arena entirely. District One is spared, Margot's home. Margot Lavish has never missed a meal. Now, her family pushes her to train for the Hunger Games to afford an expensive surgery for her dear grandfather. When all goes wrong, her incentive shifts entirely: Stay alive.
1. Chapter 1

Aidan Sankowsky The Decennial Pardon

 _A Hunger Games Novel_

 _30 days until reaping_

"Three weeks and fourteen hours, it's a personal record," I boast, holding my head up with my hands. The dinner table is adorned with new china, napkins, and an elegant candle centerpiece. Around it is my immediate family and the extensions from them. Alcoholic uncles, prim aunts, crazy cousins, and senile grandparents.

"When are the Games?" asks my dad's sister, Aunt Jada, adjusting her necklace and scooting her chair closer to the table.

"One month from today, actually," I say, "I know I'm gonna win, and we have a plan after I win the money. We are going to finally be able to afford reconstruction for Grandpa Maco. You know, he needs a whole new lower body." My grandpa lost his legs as a peacekeeper at 20, and despite the riches in District 1, he could never afford the surgery. Our visitors seem satisfied with our incentive except for Aunt Twinkle who is genuinely scared for my life. I really would love to see Grandpa Maco walk. It would be so joyful and inspiring. I know he wants it too.

"I wish my Victoria was eligible for the Games, but she never volunteered. Now it's too late. What a shame." frowns Uncle Yasmine with enough slur to stir himself another mimosa.

The dinner continues with smaller conversations between people as I eat silently. My mom and dad issue about my dad's work. My little cousins giggle about who "Paris's new crush" is, and Paris shakes her head and denies it. My uncles and aunts hardee har about golf while sipping their hundred-dollar wine.

"Goodbye! You all can visit whenever you like!" calls Aunt Jada as her car pulls out of the driveway hauling a little Paris, Glow, Paisley and Uncle Yasmine. Grandmother, Aunt Twinkle, and Uncle Topaz are spending the night, but I want nothing to do with them.

"Goodnight, Margot," my mom mumbles as she has her foot up the staircase like she would rather be asleep than be here right now. I can sense the tiredness in her voice because we stayed at the table two hours past dinner.

"Night," I give her a small smile and she goes upstairs to her room. I think I should get some sleep, so I head upstairs too. At the top step, I hear someone behind me.

"Hey, darling," emits Grandmother Velvetra, awfully close. They are both light-footed, so I am not surprised they I didn't hear them and are now only two steps below me.

Aunt Twinkle gives me a look, one of apprehension, "You know, we could all save up for Grandpa Maco, and then we could all afford the surgery! No murder involved!" she says in a thin voice. She has fear in her eyes, but she pains to display positivity. Grandmother rolls her eyes at me and passes me on the steps into one of our guest bedrooms for the night.

"I promise you, we will have enough money and more for Grandpa once I win. I will be okay; I will win for you all." I whisper, trying not to disturb anyone. I want her to trust me. I am glad she worries for me, but her distrust will bring me down mentally. All hands on deck, no exceptions.

"Oh my…" she frowns. She goes up to a different bedroom and looks at me as she closes the door. _Please don't,_ she is saying.

I can hear Uncle Topaz and dad talking in the kitchen downstairs. I can hear Uncle Topaz's beer and my dad's wine clinking on the counter.

I walk up to my room, exhausted from all of the talking that has occupied my evening. I get into my pajamas and crawl into bed. I stare at the ceiling. It's hot. I take off my pajamas. Underwear and tank top instead, I decide. I try to close my eyes. A knife. It's headed straight for my eye. I open my eyes only to see the dark walls of my room.

Ever since I have gone to the Academy for training I have been not able to sleep. I'm scared. I want my family to think I am confident, but inside I am crumbling from fear. Aunt Twinkle is the only one with a clue of what I am setting myself up for. She understands the degree to which The Hunger Games forces children. After all, her older brother volunteered for her 12-year-old self, 38 years ago. She watched the countdown, the brawl, and finally… the cannon. My mom said not to listen to her, for she would throw me from my A-game.

I want to hear what she has to say, but if my mom finds me talking to her about the Games she'll be mad at me.

Eyes closed. I can see the steady stream of water from a grotto. Peaceful, isn't it? My hand, so worn. I'm in the Games. My worn hand not only holds the weight of murdering innocent children but a bunch of eaten nightlock berries. My vision, it's turning white. Purple. Black. I can see the water as my vision disappears.

12:19 p.m. I fell asleep, that's new. Normally I am still awake right now, loathing that dreadful countdown where all of my training is forgotten. Where I begin to wish my home.

I stand up next to my bed and walk to the door.

"It's only natural!" my dad throws some odd punchline that my uncle finds funny.

"Right as ever, Mister Lavish!" my uncle snorts. Good, they're still awake. I can't sleep if no one is awake in the house. I feel unsafe. Even behind our thousand-dollar defense system to prevent robbery and intrusion.

I head back to my bed and pick Ernie from the ground. I lie down and cover myself in a cocoon of warmth, hugging Ernie, the plush toy.


	2. Chapter 2

_29 days until reaping_

I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember waking up to the sound of a glass shatter from downstairs. I stumble up from the bed, leaving my sheets in a mess, and put on my pajamas. I open the door and head down the hall to the stairs. My mom gives me a look of confusion with her dark eyes. We both hurry down the stairs and find Grandmother Velvetra on her tip-toes with a look of horror. She is surrounded by glass in all directions.

"Don't move, Velvetra!" shouts my mom, not completely down from the stairs. She runs upstairs leaving me and Grandmother staring at each other.

"Uh, yeah, don't move. At all. She is probably getting a broom," I hold my hands out in a cautious manner.

Down rush my dad and mom with a broom and pan. They zoom past me and immediately start sweeping up the glass. Grandmother puts her feet down fully and slides out of the way.

"What broke?" urges my mom, face in on her broom.

"Just a glass cup," she feels bad, I can tell.

"What happened?" my dad asks as he pours glass into the trash can.

"I reached for a cup in the cupboard but I knocked it down. I'm really sorry," she frowns.

"It's fine. Really. It's one of many. The important thing is you didn't get hurt." consoled my dad, putting two hands on her shoulders.

I take the last few steps down the stairs and walk into the kitchen, "What were you going to pour?"

"Orange juice," shakes Grandmother staring at the tile, as if interested.

"Here, I'll get you some," I grab a glass and pour in some orange juice. I walk over to her and hand it to her.

"Thank you, darling," she says with her silvery voice, with a genuineness I can't find in Aunt Twinkle. She heads into the living room and sits down, picks up the TV remote, and changes it to the national news. My parents are finished cleaning and head in there with her. I decide I am in the mood for a before-breakfast orange juice glass, too. I pour myself one and head to the living room to join my family.

A pierce of shock and pain shoots from my foot to my heart. I know what it is. Glass. "Gah!" I shriek. I bounce on one foot and strain for the nearest counter and slam down my glass. I hold up my leg with one arm and stabilize myself with the other. I hurt so bad, there is a shard deep in the pad of my foot. "Mom! Dad!" I scream. They come running in. My dad sees the blood. My mom runs over and inspects my foot. I can feel it, it's like a knife.

"Lie on the floor," my dad says in a panic. My mom lowers me to the ground, not before making sure there is no more glass anywhere nearby.

"Do we take it out?" my mom trembles. Grandmother is in shock, her eyes widen and she doesn't know what to do so she runs away.

"I don't know! Just figure it out!" I snap.

"Calm, Margot. It'll be okay," my mom retorts.

My dad wipes the blood from the floor and my foot. There is sure to be more when it gets taken out. I see Grandmother Velvetra run upstairs.

"Oh, sweetie, are you okay?" my dad asks, pained.

"Not really!" I give him a smile concocted from pain, sarcasm, and frustration. Uncle Topaz rushes down the stairs with my grandmother.

"Diamona!" he says to my mom, "I can help!"

Soon I have a four-person operation team around me. It pulsates and fluctuates from soreness and broad to sharp and extreme pain. I need it out now, I need a bandage, ibuprofen. Make it end.

I begin to feel dizzy, and though the pain fades in my dizziness, it only makes me feel less in control. I close my eyes, waiting for it to be over.

"Okay, Margot. We're gonna take it out. Is that okay?" says Uncle Topaz.

"Yes! It's fine! Just do it!" I cry.

"Three, two…"

I can feel it leave in a quick, swift movement. My hands sweat like never, and my heart is racing because I have felt enough pain to make an elephant cry.

"Bandages? Anywhere?" my mom quakes. I know it's bleeding, so keep my eyes closed and wait.

"There are none!" my dad huffs.

I think they find bandages at some point because the next thing I remember is waking up on the couch.

"Oh! Hun!" my mom beams.

"Ugh," I moan.

My mom tells me I should stay off my foot until she hears back from the doctor. Grandmother, Aunt Twinkle, and Uncle Topaz have left as well as my father for work. She leaves me to watch TV for a while.

I sit up and inspect the bandage. Even if I wanted to walk, it would be hard with such a thick wrap on my foot. The TV is still on the news, but all I can think about is how my injury will affect my training. My campaign. My combat in the arena.

Almost on cue, the Capitol Seal suddenly broadcasts on the TV. The Panem anthem blares to get attention nationwide. Then, President Snow's pallid face and appropriately colored beard and hair take up the screen. He stares into the camera for a few seconds before speaking in his iconic plummy way.

"This is a mandatory announcement to all citizens in the twelve districts. I remind you that any training, preparation, or planning for the 60th Hunger Games is a punishable felony and will not be tolerated. In other news, the district that will be excused from the games will be announced in fourteen days. As you all know, the Decennial Pardon is a privilege given to a random district every ten years to excuse them from The Hunger Games for that year. Please tune into this next announcement in fifteen days." As if we had a choice.

The TV turns black and then returns to the news. I turn around, my mom is standing behind the couch and was watching. She looks at me, holds her finger to her mouth, grins, and walks away. I guess this makes me a criminal.

I have heard the other districts think of us and District 2 as the Capitol's lapdogs but most people here in 1 don't like him. He still sends our kids to the games, we are still his, and we are still oppressed. I imagine they feel the same in 2.

The rest of the day consists of small meals, icing my foot, napping, worrying, and regretting not saying goodbye to the rest of my family until my mom comes in with news from my doctor. He says I should come in tomorrow and get it checked out, maybe even stitched. I hate surgery and all doctors in general. I loathe about how much it will hurt tomorrow, but I need to toughen up for the games. After all, they can't hurt me on purpose at the Academy so this is my endurance training. When will I return to the training Academy?

I begin to stress out about training and the fact that I will hold up my hand in pride claiming I volunteer in only 29 days. Not only that, but I enjoy time with my trainer Zenaveve. She has formed a training regime in which I go unconscious under a machine that puts me in an artificial arena with artificial intelligence trying to kill me. I can be stabbed, starve, drown, and more but the one thing that makes it unreal is that I can't feel pain.

Under the machine's influence, and hour in real life is a week in the arena. My best time is three weeks and fourteen hours. Unfortunately, I died from an unsuspected knife to the back which made me very unfit for battle, and my final blow was to the head with a sword. Thankfully, I learn a lot from the simulations.

Dinner is served on the cashmere couch after Dad comes home. Lamb stew and baguettes. I go to sleep early in hope I can heal faster, and when I'm asleep my foot doesn't hurt.

Ernie makes me feel better until I fall asleep and dream of the terrors in the arena. Ernie can't save me in my dreams nor the Games themselves.


	3. Chapter 3

_14 days until reaping_

It's been almost two weeks since I got the stitches in my foot, and it is still sore as I run the track at the Academy.

"Hustle! Hustle! Those tributes won't stop until they lose you! Otherwise, you're dead!" barks Zenaveve as she claps her hands sharply. I push as hard as I can, leaning my body forward. My foot hurts but I know there will be far worse problems in the Games. I watch the tangerine and navy rubber track under my feet as I take my last turn. Finally, I haul all of my force into the last 40 meters and zoom past the finish line.

"Nice, but I'd like to see an even better time," she comments as she leans in. Her dark skin and curly hair on my face remind me of the creamy coffee my mom drinks in the morning. Her pink eyelashes flutter but her attitude is sharp. I want to tell her my foot still hurts but it is her job to push me no matter what. She leaves me be for "Selected Training" where I can spend half of an hour practicing any skill I'd like.

I walk across the gym for some water. After I drink some, I start to narrow down what I should do. I certainly can't heave weights, do bench presses, or lift my own weight with my legs. I could practice throwing knives, learn the basics of archery, or even take on some smaller dumbbells. Luckily, I and I am a killer with a sword or dagger. I trace the gym and watch the other trainers and trainees practice. There is a young boy, not older than twelve, chopping logs with an ax. Also, there is a middle-aged woman picking up a bow for the first time. Normally during Selected Training, I watch for someone who can teach me a thing or two, other than Zenaveve. Besides, most people come here for exercise, and no one knows I'm going to volunteer.

I walk over to the archery hall. The targets and bows are outside, but large windows around the gym let me see anything out there. I see the woman observing the bow and the arrows. I head down the hall and out the door. She turns around and smiles, putting down the arrow.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," I respond as I step next to her, picking up a bow of my own. The bows here are nothing fancy, but they are good enough to learn and be able to use any bow expensive or not.

"You ever shot before?" I ask, looking up to her. Her ebony hair is short, like a man's. She is slender and seems more like a thinker than a talker.

"Oh," she laughs, "Never. I just thought I would check it out since I have never tried,"

"Neither have I, but I think I'll learn today!" I giggle.

I pick up and arrow from the stationary quiver and try to position it. It slips and slides and the fletching tickles my face. I see the woman pick up her bow to, put the arrow in, and I can see it resting perfectly on the bow. She eyes me and grins, then I smile back and ask, "How did you position it?"

"I don't know, it just is sitting here in the center,"

"Well, go ahead, shoot!" I point my arm to the targets. She focuses on the target and draws back her arrow. I can nearly feel the tension in the string and I can almost hear her heart beating. She stops pulling, aims, and before she releases, the arrow bends a little. When she releases it flies out to the right. In an instant, it is lodged not in the target she was aiming for, but bulls-eye in the next target to the right.

She bursts out laughing, shaking her hand she must have hurt when she let go. I start laughing with her. The irony of the situation seems to make us laugh more than it should. She pants and says, "Well, I guess I'm a natural!" and starts laughing again. I am smiling and I tell her she must be because not many people can get such a perfect shot, especially when they don't even try.

I retry the bow. I am smiling but I try to refrain because the arrow is pulled back to my cheek, and it may impact my accuracy. The woman stops laughing and watches me like I did her. I am locked in on the target, and now I just need to let go. I release my fingers and the arrow flies right past the target, hitting the gravel beyond it.

The two of us battle against our inexperience for the next ten minutes before she leaves.

"I'm Pearlette, by the way," she says as she is about to leave.

"My name is Margot. Nice to meet you. I'm here every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday so if you want to join me in archery again, you can." I went on.

She leaves with a wave and I see her leave the Academy inside.

For the last few minutes of Selected training, I manage to get two arrows on the target. Not before I take the time to read the instructions on how to hold the bow first. The cooling air outside is much nicer that the hot air inside. The September weather is starting to kick in, and I can't wait for the cool climate.

Zenaveve finds me outside and decides to help me with the bow a little before she takes me to the dumbbells and makes me lift twenty pounds on each arm for five minutes. In the past four months, I have gained 20 pounds in muscle and gained a ton in intellect.

At 5:00 p.m. my mom picks me up outside of the Academy and discusses with Zenaveve what I did today.

As we pull onto the road she remarks, "Ooh! You learned how to shoot a bow and arrow, did you?" she has her eyes on the road but only one hand on the wheel since her other is redoing her hair.

"Yeah, it was cool," I say. Twenty minutes later we are back home and my mom starts making dinner. I head up to my room and sit on the computer, doing whatever fills the time between now and dinner. In the districts, only a small amount of internet is allowed. Most districts, like 3, 10, and 12, have no internet at all. I always want someone from the poorer districts to win. After all, they need it more than us. But not this year. I will have no mercy and will strategize my victory. Online, luckily, I can find the clips from the last few Hunger Games, the 57th, 58th, and 59th. The newer the clips I watch, the more likely I will see similar traits in this year's arena. Year 57 had a warm island in which tropical plant and animal life prospered. The winner was a girl, about my age, 15, who was strong and beautiful and from District 5. She was deadly with knives.

The 58th games took place on a rocky, mountainous terrain. Water was scarce except for the snow-capped mountains. Most people died from falling off of cliffs, starving, or the carnivorous mountain lions. The winner was a small girl by the name of Cecelia who could outrun the mountain lions and didn't need much food to stay alive.

Finally, I watch the 59th games. I remember watching this as the first Games I was allowed to watch, even though by law I should watch all of them as soon as my attention span is longer than a second. The Cornucopia, where all of the goods and weapons are centered, was placed in the center of a lake and the tributes had to swim to it. Surprisingly, the winner was an 18-year-old boy from 10. Even districts not his own gave him sponsors because he was so likely to win. One would expect a swimmer from 4 to excel in an aquatic bloodbath.

Watching these videos penetrates my soul with such a degree of fear and anxiety that I curl up on my bed and cry. Maybe we could save up for Grandpa Maco. Maybe I don't need to risk my life. It's too late, though. My parents have already spent thousands on my training.

I already quit school to "be homeschooled." I have set my family up and they trust me, well, except for one. The one who knows what I am in for. The more I whine, however, the less I will succeed. I am volunteering. I must.

"Margot! Dinner!" calls my mom from downstairs.

"Okay!" I shut down the computer and stumble up from my chair.

Dinner tonight is steak, salad, pufferfish, and rice. These are some of my favorite foods. I wonder if my parents are trying to make me happy in my last days at home. That is until I win and move to the luxurious victor's village.

"So, how was training?" my dad inquires.

"Good. It was hard today, but I also learned the basics of archery. You never know what you may run into in the arena."

"Yep, I guess so. You better fatten up, too. Food won't come easy out there." he says, rubbing his belly.

"I can't wait to see the Capitol. The lights, the people, the food. It will be glorious!" I smile, staring into the air as if a million lights were shining on me, "I'll be a star, an idol, a victor,"

"Aw, yeah! You seem confident. So tell me about your latest simulation," my dad cheers. My mom nods and agrees.

"Well, it was a forest arena. I managed to grab a spile and a knife in the Cornucopia, but they were vital. The first day it was only ten of us left. It was cold all day and night. Smoke could be seen from other tributes. I decided to be a predator. I stalked a girl from 3 and when she put out her fire I ambushed her and ended up stabbing her. I hate to kill, but it is the only way to win the games and get the money. In this economy here in 1, we live in economic equilibrium, so we need this prize. The rest of the time there I don't kill anyone. But I do end up in third when I die from a sword kill." I explain.

"Ooh, murderous…" my mom snickers. I guess one could say families in 1 were twisted. Really, though, we have finally accepted our submission to the Capitol and are trying to make the best of it.

We finish our delectable dinner and sit in the living room waiting for the Decennial Pardon announcement. I hope it is District 2 or 4 because they are my biggest competitors. We start to watch the 30th games but only ten minutes in the Capitol anthem and seal shine on our hologram TV. The three of us exchange looks then stare at the screen. President Coriolanus Snow is now on camera, and he begins speaking.

"Today we shall announce the district that will be excused in this year's Decennial Pardon. We will randomly pick a district and they will not have to participate. This also means that district gets no tesserae this year. Let us begin," He turns around, revealing a glass sphere exactly like the ones they pick names from at the reaping. He puts his boney fingers in and moves them around. He seizes one, stares into the camera, and slowly takes it out. "The district subdued by the Decennial Pardon is…" He opens the slip of paper and reads it aloud, "District One"

My hand flies over my mouth and my green eyes widen. I jerk my head to my parents, who are in disbelief.

"This concludes our announcement. District one is pardoned from this year's games and the reaping will be canceled." the TV shutters and then returns back to our film.

"What does this mean? Can I not participate? What about Grandpa Maco?" I babble.

"I don't know," my parents stutter.

I had plans, practices, people to help. What can I do now?

I stand up and run to my room. I sit on my bed and cry and bawl until I realize what has really happened. I have been spared. It was truly not meant to be. Now I don't have to risk my life anymore, we really can just save up for Grandpa Maco's surgery. I am not only lucky today, but I am lucky to be in 1 where I can be fed and safe. This is a gift and I need not take it for granted. I walk back down the stairs and see my mom on the phone.

"So, someone could still volunteer?" my mom paces the kitchen. "And does this mean if someone volunteered they would be alone unless someone else from their district volunteered too?"

My mom spots me, "Thank you, Mayor, have a nice day." she turns off the cell communicator and beams at me, "You can still go! As long as you volunteer you can still participate! Your grandfather is saved!" she is hopping and my dad is smiling too.

I don't want to go anymore. I have realized what I am signing up for and I am not ready. I can't do this.

"Yay!" I fake.

"Let's eat a celebratory dessert of 'our family is saved and Margot can still win the Games'"

"Okay," I am horrified. I wish my parents understood like I did.

We eat an ice cream of regret and fear but my parents can't taste it. As soon as I can, I run back to my room and cry myself to sleep. It was a mistake. I don't need this.


	4. Chapter 4

_1 day until reaping_

We visit Grandpa Maco today at his small home near the border with District 7. Up in the north of 1, there are many large mansions and properties, yet among those is my grandfather's small home. Our car stops in the driveway behind my grandpa's ruby sedan and I get out. His house is more of a cottage than a ranch home like says it is. The three of us file along with the marble path to his front door. My parents let me ring the doorbell.

Brringg!

I can hear the sound of his wheelchair rolling on what I know is the natural-smelling floorboards of his home. Then, the door begins to unlock. The door opens and I can see Grandpa Maco smiling from ear to ear.

"Hi!" we cheer.

"Hiya, come on in!" he says.

Immediately I am pervaded by the scent of wool and lumber. I can hear the kettle and smell the tea from it in the kitchen. Grandpa once told me he lived like this because that was how his parents lived in District 7. My great-grandparents illegally crossed the District border for a better life in 1. They moved to the city, but their son chose to live in the northern woods that faded from the bustle of the district. My mom grew up in this house but moved to the city after university.

He hands me a teacup and fills it up for me while I am sitting in the living room. We all happily sip our tea as we discuss family news, district news, and finally this year's Games.

"Grandpa, I'm going to volunteer for the games. I'm going to win and we are going to get you a new pair of legs. Ones that can run and walk. It has been my dream to see you healthy and I know you want it too." I twinkle, trying to sound trustworthy.

He looks confused, then sad, then frustrated, "No no no, you can't do that! I'm happy as long as I live here and I get to see my family. I really don't need it! You can't risk your life like that for little old me." his soft, aged voice makes me feel horrible for scaring him like this. I want to say, I know I don't have to. I don't want to. If I could, I would make you healthy with the snap of my fingers. But I can't. I have promised you and everyone I would do this. I am ready. Scared, but ready.

"I can do it! I will be victorious and we will all live joyously! Imagine it, a new pair of legs, visiting us in the Victor's Village. I have trained for it," I lean in and whisper, "but don't tell anyone; They can't know" and I smile.

I miss him when he isn't around. He always tells me funny, inspiring, or engaging stories from his childhood. For a while, he was even a peacekeeper before he resigned. I have seen pictures of him, young. He had bright blond hair like me and my dad. He was tall and strong, and he didn't deserve the explosion that paralyzed him from the waist down.

"Doll," He touches my hair, the sunlight makes my hair look golden, "Please, no. I love you and care about you too much to let you do this." Being the father of Aunt Twinkle, I am not surprised they both share a fear of the Games. After all, he did lose his son to the games. I lost an uncle who never knew me.

We bid farewell and keep waving as mom drives the car from the driveway. This is the last time I'll see him until the Games. Last time forever if I don't win. They say people with green eyes like me and my father tend to put others before themselves. I wish I could say this is what I want to do, fight, but I can't.

At home, we eat lunch, turkey, and mozzarella sandwiches. Then, I get dropped off at the Academy for only three hours for extra practice. Zenaveve brushes me up on all of my skills for only 20 minutes each. This is my last day with her. Before 5:00 she hugs me, "You can do this, you will win. I know it. You have shown so much excellence that I would place a million dollars on you winning. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Back at home, I say goodbye to my toys, "I will be gone awhile, okay?" I tell them. I look out the window, studying the shine and glimmer from the city. I can see tall buildings miles away. District 1 has such beautiful skylines and gorgeous gardens. I can see the peacekeeper headquarters, and it reminds me that the last time I saw a peacekeeper was almost a week ago. Crime is low here in 1 unless you get caught, and I am grateful for that. Grateful for my home, food, and family.

I know tomorrow will be me brushing up on my swordsmanship in the backyard, volunteering, saying goodbye, and riding the train to the Capitol. I have an assortment of daggers and swords in the shed, Longswords, shortswords, katanas, throwing knives despite my lack of skill, and my favorite, my hook sword.

I get called downstairs for dinner around 6:30 p.m. My dad has set the table with a silver cloth and silver-lined plates. My favorite color. Tonight is special. I sit down, "Wow! Silver," I trace my finger on the embroidered margins.

"Yeah, since it's your last dinner until the Games, I thought we would make it special." he smiles. I hear my mom come in from the kitchen behind me and I turn around to see her bring in juicy pork chops, lush salad, and she places down a cup of sweet tea next to me.

"Mom! Dad! Wow! This is great, I love this!" I chirp. She also comes back with sweet rolls and a small cake she puts in the middle of the table. "Thank you so much, Mom."

"My pleasure, I love to cook and I know you need a hearty dinner tonight." I smile. I expect good food in the Capitol, but I can't even imagine what happens after I get on that train.

"So, what's the plan tomorrow?" I ask, biting into a delectable pork chop.

"Well, the Mayoral Office is where we will have to volunteer. It opens at 9:15, but if anyone volunteers before you, we are out of luck. I plan on getting there at 9:00 so wake up at 8:00 at the latest. Once you volunteer they will fill us in on what to do. We will say goodbye and you will be off, most likely." she explains, tearing a roll apart, ripping it's bready inside apart. Wait, I can see something. A boy ripped in half by angry mutts. I feel like I can't breathe. I shake my head. Just bread. My parents are talking and didn't notice my hallucination.

"Right, Margot?" asks my dad. What does he want? "Right" what?

"Right," I agree nonsensically. Maybe I should pay attention more than I envision dead children. The dead kids come later.

"Are you nervous?" my mom asks. _Yes. Are you?_

"A little. But I think my main problem will be getting supporters in the Capitol. I may not look pretty nor do many pretty things out in battle, by the way. So don't expect a runway show." I explain.

I end up avoiding the salad because it is drenched in a bitter dressing that reminds me of eating a flower. I am stuffed like Ernie when we decide to share a lovely night watching a comedy, starting a puzzle of which we only get a few pieces fastened, and sharing a batch of strawberry smoothies. My mom says the strawberries are fresh from District 11. I bet they are gorgeous, the trees and bushes that grow the fruits and vegetables. What else is gorgeous is the love my family shares. I love my parents and they love me too. I am so happy to be with them in my last hours at home.

I say goodnight and head up to my room. From the window shines the city and I can see a jewelry company's building built in the shape of a giant diamond. I undress in my mirror, releasing my blonde hair from the confines of my ponytail. I sit up in bed and read the last of my book. Afterward, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, restless. It's exhausting to put off a confident, strong-willed persona, I want to cower and cry. Then I do. I cry all night until 1:00 a.m. My face hurts and my brain aches but I soon drift into the relief of sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_Day of the reaping_

I remember waking up the day of my Mica's funeral. I remember waking up more tired than I was before I fell asleep. I couldn't function and the long day ahead of me and the tears that were to come exhausted me just thinking about it. I was distraught, pained, and clutched. My young self, had only begun to grasp never having a brother again. This is how I feel now.

I wake up before the sun rises to get ready for sword practice. I shower then plod to the closet, clothing myself in a black knee skirt with a pewter blouse that has a bow on it. I brush my hair and put on my boots to wear in the yard.

Outside, I walk across the lawn to the shed. I am forced to do an embarrassing jig to make the motion lights activate. When they do, I open my shed. It used to be a tool shed, but once I became interested in blades we relocated the tools to the garage. Most of our weapons bought from stores, gifts, or handed down by family. There is one, my hook swords, which I found in the scrap metal waste from the Academy. All they needed was a polishing and I soon learned how to snatch, slice, and sever both dummies and a bush one time. I roll Callahanioro the dummy from my shed and struggle to push him across the grass. I put him in the middle of my dewy lawn and return back to the shed.

I understand that my weapon of choice may not be available in the arena so I grab a dagger, a longsword, and throwing knives and place them on the ground next to Callahanorio. I decide to start with the throwing knives. I pick up three of them and stand back about five meters. I hold the knife with my index and middle finger and draw them back. I aim my arm at Callahanorio's head and, with the flick of my wrist, fling the knife. It whizzes and lodges forcefully into his collarbone. That would stop anyone. I think, but I need a kill. I pick up the second knife, pinning it in my hand. My eyes focus in. His head, his neck, his eye. I close my eyes, then they fly open as my hand flicks forward, sending the second knife into his throat. I must be lucky; I never get two successful hits in a row. Then I pick up the third knife, hold it back, and fling it. Sure enough, I let go too late and it flies between his legs. I retrieve the knives and place them back on the ground.

Next, I pick up the dagger. It's hard to see since the sun is not out yet, but I practice what Zenaveve has taught me. "Swing, jab, slash," she always said. I lower my stature and bounce around Callahanorio, swinging, jabbing, and slashing. I am certain my foe is dead, for he has suffered several gashes in the chest, back, and neck. I feel powerful with my swords, and I wonder if I will feel the same against a real opponent. I have more control with a dagger and I have also seen more daggers than swords in the Games so I hope I end up getting one.

The sun rises and I have finished practicing my longsword. I walk inside and leave my boots on the deck and check the clock in my living room which displays 7:58. I get out an egg carton when my mom comes down the stairs. She sees me about to pull out a pan to cook some eggs on but offers to do it herself. We don't talk much, but I can feel a thick stress between us. She dumps some eggs on my plate and I eat them silently as she sits across the table watching me.

I stare into her eyes; she is almost screaming at me in the silence. _"I am scared for you. But you have got this. There is no room for doubt."_ I see her face, wrinkled with worry but her look says otherwise. They see hope and confidence in their daughter.

My mom gets up and leaves the room, abandoning me with my thoughts. I tell myself that today is not the day to worry. I need to keep my calm when I say goodbye to my parents like the brave girl I am. Sometimes.

After I finish breakfast I clean off my combat boots and put them back in my room. I always get dirty while sword playing but it only gets on my shoes so I can still wear what I want during practice. At 8:30 my dad wakes up and enjoys his coffee, wearing a buttoned shirt and slim pants. _He is overdressed_. I think.

It's 8:45 and I take my very last glance at the house as my mom's car backs up and out of the driveway. I say goodbye to the dark front door, the window of my bedroom, the lush lawn, and the rose bush in the garden. I remember when I was young that I was frolicking in the lawn while my mother was tending to her garden. Distracted by a bird in the sky, I ran right into her rose bush. I squealed and cried when the thorns poked me and my mom carefully extracted me from the bush. I was always careful to pay attention to where I was going while playing from then on.

Five minutes later we are immersed in the city. I see many people walking along the sidewalks under the towering skyscrapers and buildings. Even in the morning sun, lights and signs flashed and shimmered. My dad starts a roll of affection once I notice we pass my Academy.

"Oh, hun. I love you _so_ much, more than anything else in the world. You are my beautiful, strong, and brave daughter whom I would trade nothing in the world for. I will watch every second of your Games. I believe in you and your strength." he praised.

"I love you, too, Dad. I am anxious and nervous but you guys make me feel better always. I will miss you, but not for long." I smile. It makes me sad to say bye to the things even more important than my house, or room, or toys. Love is incomparable to physical things.

"Margot," my mom's voice cracks to tears, "I love you! I am going to miss you so so so so much! I have been so sad for the past few weeks, and worried sick. But this is our choice and we understand the vitality and necessity of your bravery. This is a challenge on the road to victory and I know you can overcome it!" she wails. I want to cry, too. I don't, though. I need to sit still and look pretty until we arrive.

The Mayoral Office is wide and an ivory masterpiece. It's concrete columns and stone exterior convey a force of authority and dominance. In the back, I remember, is the District 1 square where all of the children aged from 12 to 18 attend the reaping, the event at which the tributes are chosen. Today is a different reaping, though. It's a submission.

We park in the small lot in front that has only one other red car. I think nothing of it until I wonder if it is someone else coming to volunteer. Actually, that is very likely. District 1 is filled with eligible teens. What if they're in there now?

My mom and dad both have an arm on me as we go up the steps to the entrance. I pick up the pace so that we can get in before any other volunteers. What a few months it would be if I ended up not going at all.

The bulging clock above the front doors says 9:17. Who could be here so urgently but someone eager to volunteer? My dad opens and holds the door for my mother and me. The wide counters and bookshelves make the entrance feel stretched. My heart is even more stretched after what I see next.

Grandpa Maco, in his wheelchair, talking quickly and impatiently to the man at the desk. I see my mom and my dad have noticed too. We are all confused and approach Grandpa Maco.

"There she is! That's my granddaughter!" he sees us points and hollers.

"What?" I choke. He starts shaking his head between us and the man at the counter.

"She is the one who was training?" he asks him.

"Yes!" he says.

The man at the counter picks up a transceiver and says, "We have a young girl who has been training for the Games. She is here in the lobby."

"Grandpa, what the heck!" I shout. Why is he doing this, what is his problem?

"I could never let you go to that arena! You know what happened to my son!" he croaks.

"So you ratted me out?" I snap.

"Maco, why?" my mother asks him.

"Diamona, your daughter was in grave danger, don't you get it?" he cries. I can hear stomps coming from one side of the hall and the man at the counter is running to a backside room.

"We need to get out!" I shout, ditching Grandpa.

The three of us dash back to the door and vigorously shake the handle. Locked. Of course. I run to a window and pound. Break, please. My mom looks for another door down the lobby. My dad is pacing. An aura of panic fills the room.

"Stop! I am trying to protect you!" shouts Grandpa Maco.

"Not really!" I retort.

I hear my mom shriek and scream. Four peacekeepers march in the lobby, one pinning my mom against their chest.

"Let her go!" my dad demands, charging for the peacekeepers. I know it's not a good idea. I run away from them and scramble around the lobby searching for an escape. I see Grandpa just wheel himself around and face away from me. _Take them away._ He means. I cry out as I see my dad, too get seized by the incredibly strong peacekeepers. They march in such an intimidating manner that they could scare away a herd of elephants. I holler gibberish and flip a coffee table, push over a bookshelf. I need to make any barrier I can. I sprint back and forth in the same places breaking more things.

"Let them go! They didn't do anything! It was me!" I scream. They march closer, only a few meters away. The two holding my parents suddenly turn around and head back down the unknown hallway.

"Help!" I beg, "Grandpa! Why?" I yowl. They snatch my arms, my legs, and drag me into their possession. I struggle and shriek as they, too turn around and go to the other end of the lobby and to the hallway. They pass Grandpa and I lock eyes with him, "What is wrong with you? Stop them! Please!" I plead. They haul me further down the hallway and further from Grandpa. He stares at me but utters no word. They take me down to a door which opens automatically. They step me into an elevator, which I try to grab hold of as they enter. Anything to help me escape. I feel like a fish on a hook, fresh from District 4. Like the fish, I am dead meat too.

The elevator door closes with a slam and then we head down. I wiggle and bite and kick but they show no sign of stress. _B._ The button is shining like a full moon. I know where we are headed. The basement.

"Where are you taking me?" I wail. As I start to wiggle again, I feel a blunt, hard swing to the head, knocking me out cold.

 _Basement Level_

I don't know how long it has been since I got taken down to the basement. I just woke up and there is something over my eyes and all I can see is darkness. My hands are bound and attached to the cold wall behind me. My feet, I find, are locked up in cuffs. I feel even more helpless than before. I shimmy and squirm but it only seems to make the ties tighter.

"Hello? Where am I?" I call out into the darkness.

"Margot! Oh thank heavens, are you okay?" I know my dad to the left of me, but there is something between us. People?

"Yeah, I think. Where are we? Where are the peacekeepers?" I ask.

"I don't know, but keep it down, they may still be nearby. All I remember is the elevator and then they knocked your mother out with a baton, then me. My head is killing me."

"They knocked me out, too." I say, lowering my volume, "We need to get out, ASAP. Before the keepers get back." I state with a lining of fear.

"I can't! I am stuck and I can't see!" he whispers.

I remember my time with Zenaveve where she told me how to escape from handcuffs or rope. I have no idea what my hands are tied in and I only learned how to escape if my hands were in front of me. I hear my dad and I wiggling by the clinks of the chains and shuffle of our clothes. For almost an hour we hope to pry out but only succeeded in tiring ourselves.

The bag, or bandana, or towel over my eyes and the blackness it dominates my sight with only makes me tired. I am exhausted and my unconsciousness earlier probably did not get me any real sleep. I fight the pull of sleep until I fall back under, standing like a ragdoll on the wall.

However, many hours later I am startled awake when I hear a crackling scream coming into the room. I get a sense of the size of my surroundings from it, too.

"Stop! Let go! Gah!" I hear a woman. _Thud. Whack!_ She is fighting back, but I can hear the handcuffs lock on her hands and then a bag slip over her head. Now I know there is a bag over my head and there is no chance of getting it off, "Get back here and release me! What did I do?" she demands. I know her voice. Strong and persuasive. Persuasive enough to get a response from the notoriously silent peacekeepers.

"Silence. Stand still and we probably won't shoot you." says a man. I decide to make it evident I am awake.

"What are you going to do to us? If you let us go, we will do anything!" Not anything. In fact, the only thing I _want_ to give them is a sock to the face and to run away.

"Margot?" says the woman. I hear the peacekeepers leave and slam a door behind them.

"Zenaveve?"

"What are you doing here? What am _I_ doing here?" she asks. Zenaveve. Why _is_ she here? What did she do? Then, I realize the truth and tell her.

"Well, my Grandpa ratted me out for training for the Games." Under my bag I roll my eyes, "They took us down here and tied us up. And they knocked us out. My dad is here and I think my mom is too but I have no idea. You must be in trouble for training me." I explain.

"Well, how'd they know it was me? All I remember is leaving work and right outside they beat me up and carried me away." she says bluntly, "And how are we gonna get out of here?"

"It's impossible,"

"Ugh,"

I suddenly hear my mom wake up and panic, "Margot! Steele!" my mom calls to the last two people she saw before being knocked out.

"Mom!"

"Diamona!" my dad says, waking up, "it's okay. We're fine."

"Where," he struggles and shakes, "are we?"

"The basement," I answer.

"Don't panic; Stay calm. No, you're not going to get the bag off of your head."

"Where is your Grandfather?" my mom asks me.

"I don't know,"

"He better get us out of here before I-"

"Mom, stop. We can't worry about anyone else before we get out of here." I interrupt.

"Zenaveve, do you know how to get out of this?" I ask.

"If I did, I would not still be here," she sighed.

"Zenaveve? You're here?" my mom seems confused and scared.

"As of not too long ago,"

"Who is to the right of me?" my mom asks. Whoever is to the right of her is to the left of me, and they haven't spoken yet.

"I don't know, but they are to my right." I say, "Dad, are you over there to my left?"

"Yes,"

"Then mom?"

"Yes," my mom utters.

"And then the mysterious other," I say.

"Then you and me," finishes Zenaveve.

"Does _anyone_ have anything in their pockets they could use to get us out?" my dad asks into the air.

"I don't," I say. Nobody but Mom has anything on them anymore, and she has just a few coins in her pocket.

"What could we use those for?" Zenaveve asks. I can feel a strained stress in everyone's voice, and mine is the worst. I'm the one they are mad at, and I am the one who is probably not going to the Games, but on death row.

"Right now, nothing." I reply, "We will have to wait until they do something about us. Even if we die in here."

"Margot! No! We're not going to die, we just need to apologize and pay our fine." my mom tries to be happy.

"Actually, as a punishable offense, training for the Games may result in Avoxing or execution." I correct her.

"Shh! I hear someone!" my dad whispers.

Thwap, thump, thump. The sound of heavy heals approaches from the exit. It is getting louder, more aggressive. The steps were now right outside but have paused. Silence. Then, we hear the steps walk away down in other direction. Thwap, thump, thump.

"He's gone, I think," Zenaveve says, muffled by the presumed bag over her face.


	6. Chapter 6

_9 days until…_

I wake up again under my bag I now call my home. Today, it's to the cringes and cries of the people around me.

"Diamona, breathe, breathe!" my dad yells.

My mom pants and coughs, she sounds like she is in pain. I can't see her, but I smell something awful from her direction.

"Augh," she groans.

"Mom?" I shiver.

"Hun, your mother's sick. She vomited all in her bag and it's hard for her to talk. She is going to be okay, hopefully." my dad says.

"Zenaveve?" I ask.

"She' isn't awake yet," my dad says, "Shh, shh, it's okay, Diamona,"

I can smell the vomit and it makes me gag. I feel so bad for my mom. It hurts me to see someone who seems so put-together and calm to be in such a dire situation like this, especially when we are all blinded and tied to walls.

"I need to get out! This gross bag! This room!" my mom wails.

After what feels like an hour of aching, holding my breath, and trying to get comfortable, we hear the door to the room unlocking, "We want the girl," says a scary voice. It's sharp and demanding. I hear four feet stepping toward me.

"What the,"

"Repulsive!" shout the peacekeepers.

"Take the gross lady too. Wash her off and put her right back in here." I hear one person unlatching my mom and one person is unlocking my handcuffs.

"Just don't hurt me or my family!" my mom begs. They rip off my bag and my mom's bag. The white-clad peacekeeper unties my feet and the other one is picking up my mom.

"Margot!" she calls out, her face covered in throw up. She is more worried about me than her. He takes her out of the door and to the right. The room around me is small and all white. Tile floors and porcelain walls. I turn around and see my dad, Zenaveve, and… Grandpa? They are all squirming and still bound.

"Margot, stay calm, just answer their questions," my dad says under his bag. Zenaveve wiggles but is silent.

My feet are released and the peacekeeper's empty white face stares at me, then throws me over their shoulder. I call out to my dad, but there's nothing I can do. I struggle and pry my arms so that I can escape and run away. But it is irrational. There is a woman, the one with the sharp voice, standing in the doorway also wearing peacekeeper clothes, but with no mask. Her obsidian hair is styled sharp enough to prick someone and her face is angry and means business.

"Take her to the frowny room," she orders. I squeal and shake, "let me go! Stop!"

The woman catches my flailing arm and snaps, "And you! Quit resisting!" she holds her other hand on her gun by her waist. She releases my arm and I calm down, but my heart and mind are racing. She slides over like a door and lets the peacekeeper pass. I get one last glimpse of the three prisoners in the room before they take me down the hallway which has no more light than that of a candle. The spiky woman closes the door to the chamber and heads down the other direction. I am facing backward so I can't see where he is taking me.

I worry about my parents and Zenaveve and… Grandpa. Will they kill all of us? Why is Grandpa tied up in there and why didn't he ever talk? His numb body slouched in the restraints without anything holding up his paralyzed legs like he was dead. Was he?

I look over my shoulder and see a door straight ahead. He hauls me to the door, opens it, and walks in. I see the room resembles the other one but is brighter. This must be the frowny room. He grabs my back and slams me into a chair behind a table.

"Get off!" I cry. He stares at me with his faceless head and then exits door but leaves it open. I see a girl dressed in tight, scarlet clothes with short hair close the door, cheeks puffed and eyes glossy. She must be an Avox criminalized for the most common crime here in 1, Morphling possession. Morphling is an illegal pain-killer and a leading cause of overdose. With all of their money, some people spend it wrong.

I adjust myself and sit facing forward in the room. The monochrome makes me feel like I am in a prison. Across the table is another, much more comfortable, chair. I already start reciting my answers.

 _No! I wasn't training! I was getting exercise! Zenaveve is my personal trainer! My parents just wanted me to be fit! I missed school because I was being homeschooled! Yes, I am 15._

The door opens and the spiky woman sits down in the chair, staring through me like a hawk. A tense silence hovers between us as I lose the staring contest.

"Do you know who I am?" she asks.

"No," I shudder.

"I am Platina Hellensarch, head Peacekeeper of the Central City in District One."

I cannot form words; her glare sheds every sense of thought from me.

"And you are… Margot Lavish. Fifteen years old and living in the Dominion of District One," she holds her fingertips together like a hand fan in front of her, "Correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," I gulp. I am a lot less bold and talkative than I thought I'd be.

"Your grandfather, Mr. Maco Glossier, spilled to us that you were training for the 60th Hunger Games and were planning on volunteering. Lucky for you, One was pardoned. What brought you here to the Mayoral Office, also known as the HQ for peacekeepers and the mayor herself?" she smiles like a snake.

"Well, I wasn't training, actually. I was just exercising and learning new skills at the Academy. Today I came here t-"

"Who "exercises" obsessively for months before the games and then plans on volunteering but someone who was rather training than exercising?" she interrupts. How did she know about my training regime?

"I, um. Was coming here to volunteer for the Games. My time at the Academy was just healthy exercise…" I stutter.

"You obviously don't understand the luck of the Decennial Pardon, girl. You should have stayed at home thankful none of your little friends had to die!" she escalates, shaking her fists, "You're a liar. We do not want to lie here. You can admit that you were training, or suffer the greater consequences if you still stubbornly lie!" she shouts. She stands up and begins to vulture around the table. "Now!"

"I," I take one second to think. Lie and have a low chance of evading Avox punishment or tell the truth and settle for it? "I was at the Academy training for the Games, ma'am. I just wanted to get money for my grandfather. See, he was paralyzed as a peacekeeper many years ago when a bomb went off." I admit.

"Good," she stops circling and stares down at me, standing behind her chair, "Step one: get the girl to cough it up. Step two: lay out the consequences." she smirks. I am scared for my life, at least in the Games I have a chance to live. Here, they're going to kill me. "Here are your options," she sits back down, keeping her eyes on me, "Number one: let you and your parents, trainer, and grandfather live the rest of their lives as Avoxes," she says. I can't imagine it. What could my other option be? "Or, be sent into The Hunger Games," I know what my answer is. I came here to go to the Games anyway. "With the exceptions that you have to let your mentor be… Zenaveve. You get ten more seconds on the platform during the start of the bloodbath, and no sponsors will be allowed to be sent to you. However, if you manage to win, you and your family will be spared. If you lose, they all die."

I can't let myself just give up. I won't settle for being an Avox, but I am panicked to think about the disadvantages placed on me and that if I die, they do too. I don't know what to say.

"Three…" she taps her finger, "Two," I start to cry again, "One," I decide.

"I'll go!" I say, and tears start flowing down my face. It was the lesser of two evils, and I now have to focus on adjusting to the new circumstances. "I will participate in the 60th Hunger Games," I sniffle.

"Very well, then," Platina faces a black window on the side of the room, one I can't see through, "You heard the girl, now get her to the Justice Building."

She opens the door and lets me walk out unhanded.

"Stay between them. You will get one last word with your friends before you go," she says apathetically. The two peacekeepers stand around me, one in front and one behind me. They shuffle me down the narrow hallway and almost to the door of the chamber where my parents, Grandpa, and Zenaveve are. Through a small window in the steel door, I see more peacekeepers and they are unlocking and freeing them. I see Grandpa, eyes squinty, but alive. Then I remember, "Wait!" I call back down the hallway and stop. The peacekeepers seem annoyed by my pause, "Why is my grandfather in there?" I call down the shady hall. Platina comes around the corner and walks toward me. The peacekeeper between us moves over, and she stands a foot away.

"Because. Your grandfather made the foolish mistake of reporting someone of a crime, being an illegal border migrant himself. We found records of him living in 7." she says. I can smell her hair gel and her stocky stature is as scary as always. _Serves him right._ I think.

She turns around and heads back when the peacekeepers start moving again, this time left of the chamber. I see a staircase straight ahead and an elevator on the left in front of us. It must be the elevator I was brutally coldcocked. I try to obediently keep my pace and stay quiet as we move. We reach the stairs and door, then the front peacekeeper unlocks it and lets me through. I step up and outside, squinting my eyes and holding up my hand from the sheer brightness of the sun and the light reflecting off of the tall towers I never thought I'd see again.

I stand on stone bricks and look to my left. We are on the side of the square, and we were just under the "stage of goners" as my friends call it. I realize that there would be hundreds of kids here today if we weren't pardoned. The peacekeepers march in front of me and lead me out to the front of the square. My eyes adjust and I look at the Justice Building as we move. I see the stage as symmetrical as a book, adorned with the Capitol Seal and the doors to the building. I never realized that the Mayoral Office was back-to-back to the Justice Building. Or that they connected underground, _or_ that the Mayoral Office was also the District one Peacekeeper Headquarters. There must have been endless halls and rooms I never saw.

They lead me up the steps to the stage. I feel like a tribute, one that has just had their name picked. For some, this is a staircase of impending death, for others, this is a staircase of honor and representation. There is a fair amount of people in 1 who find the games honorary and ceremonial. I was once one of them. I brisk my finger on the long Capitol flag as we walk by. The two doors on the back of the stage, tall and charcoal, are opened and I am gestured to walk in. The elegant rugs and embroidered furniture remind me of a luxurious mansion. A gold and garnet theme flows all the way up the double staircase to the second floor where they take me. My hands stop shaking, and my eyes stop watering. I remind myself to stay calm. Maturity and smartness are in dire need right now. They open another door at the top of the stairs and sit me down on a deep red love seat.

"Wait here," says the taller one. It is strange to hear them speak.

They leave the room and I sit alone with my worries until my visitors come. My mother, so scared and degraded, makes me almost cry again. I feel bad, and I wonder where they took her. Did they just hose her down like a dog? Or did they let her shower?

My dad, always a fighter and tries his hardest to keep everyone calm. I wonder if he is crumbling inside. Where is he now? Did they let them out of the chamber, or are they aimlessly waiting for release? At least they are not tied up anymore.

Grandpa. I don't want to see him. He betrayed me. I don't care if he wanted to help me. I didn't want to go, anyway. I wish I could have told him. I wish I never made the promise I would to anyone. I wonder if he will get more charges for being a migrant.

Zenaveve. She is such a strong, young woman. Only in her twenties. She supports the Games, which may come in handy, or not. She is a fighter, like my dad, but she is physical. She could kill someone. We have bonded well over the past four months. I have learned a lot about her. She must know she has to make me win, or she will die.

I hear the peacekeepers unlock the door and in steps Grandpa Maco. He has his wheelchair, but I don't know how he got up the stairs. He gazes at me, sorrowful yet opinionated.

"Why, Grandpa?" I pout.

"I couldn't let you die… like my son," He says, almost whispering.

"You turned us in!"

"I was going to warn you, but the day came and I was too late. I had to beat you here," he says.

"Look, I am going to try my hardest to win. Then, all of you will live. However, you may not get your legs. They probably won't give us a prize if I win other than sparing our lives." I say.

"I love you," he says.

A sharp knock comes from the door and reverberates through the car-sized room. His time is up. A peacekeeper grabs the back of Grandpa's wheelchair and wheels him out. He stares at me before the door closes. "Win for us," he says, then the door closes with a click.

I sit alone in the warm room, waiting for my next visitor. The cashmere seat is plush and reminds me of home. The home I was in some mysterious amount of time ago. Days? Hours? Weeks? I don't know how long I was an aching ragdoll, but it hurts to even think about. My legs are still stiff, so I lay down. The air smells of wood like Grandpa's house, but it has an essence similar to the basement, sterile and washed.

I hear footsteps coming to the door. My mom creaks it open, but she is wearing a peacekeeper uniform. She shuts the door behind her.

"Hey, honey. I'm okay," she smiles, bending down and hugging me. I sit up and she sits down next to me, stroking my hair,

"What are you wearing?" I ask, scratching at the rough material.

"They gave me cleaner clothes," she says, frowning at her body. "I have always loved your hair; it reminds me of your father's blond hair when he was young. It reminds me of your brother." she smiles shallowly.

"Mom, I miss Mica." I want to cry again. He was my older brother for the first eight years of my life. He taught me to be brave, smart, and courageous. If only he had not died would he be here today, maybe here right now. If only that Morphling overdose hadn't happened.

"I do too. He loved all of us, no matter what. But you have to win, for him, us, and Zenaveve. Our life is in your hands now." she puts her hands into her lap and squeezes, sitting up straight. "I just, you can't let yourself die out there. I love you too much, and if you die I will die. Literally," she emits a halfhearted laugh, raspy and nervous.

"I won't. I will do whatever it takes to come home to you." I say. I start crying again and she does also. The door opens slowly and the peacekeeper has to pry her away from me.

"Wait! One more minute!" she screams, running back to the room, but being held back.

I lay back down, watching my tears roll on the seat and drip to the dark wooden floor. I trace the golden margins on the garnet cashmere. I run my finger along the swirls and lines. It's what I do when I am overwhelmed. A few minutes later, my dad opens the door and I stand up and embrace him tightly.

"Dad!" I cry.

"Aw, don't cry." he says, hugging me back.

"I'm gonna miss you and mom and Aunt Jada and Uncle Yasmine and Aunt Twinkle and Uncle Topaz and Grandma Velvetra and…" I wail but then pause. Will I miss Grandpa?

"Grandpa?" she finishes.

"Yeah," I say, wiping my face with my arm.

"Sit down with me," he says.

He tells me that he has something for me, and holds out a gorgeous talisman in his hands.

I gasp, "Is this for me?"

"Yes, it used to be mine. Your grandmother gave it to me, Grandma Velvetra. She told me it would ward off misfortune and harm. See this opal?" he asks, pointing his finger at the large, circle gem in the center. It glows in a million different vibrant colors.

"Yes!" I smile, and my tears go away.

"According to the people hundreds and hundreds of years ago in the place we live now, what they called Montana, this is your 'birthstone', a gem that symbolizes your time of birth and is said to have worthy effects on its holder. She gave it to me because my birthstone was an opal, and so was hers." he smiles at me, and his eyes and hair reflect my own. I always knew we looked alike.

"Oh, dad. Thank you so much." I say, hugging him one more time before he is made to leave. He waves and blows me a kiss before the door closes again. I'm glad he didn't mention the Games and kept it familiar. I observe the iridescence of the opal and inspect the golden border with intricate designs. There is a chain long enough to go around my neck. I unlatch the necklace, put it around my neck, and latch it back together. Even though it is gold, the talisman is small enough to only weigh a little.

I pat my skirt and adjust my gray blouse I have been wearing for however many days now. The ribbon in the front, I notice, is undone so I tie it back into a big bow. I try to collect myself. Soon I will get on the train to the Capitol and I will be alongside Zenaveve as we meet our mentor. The man or woman who would have picked the names at the reaping and will help us with your Capitol relations.

The handle shakes and then creaks open. _It must be Zenaveve_. A fubsy man with bleached hair in a short ponytail steps in and closes the door.

"Do you know who I am?" He asks in an unexpected high voice.

"Erm, the Mayor?" I stupidly say.

"Mayor Peridot Maynot," He affirms. "I expect you already understand the radical crime you have committed, so I will skip my rant. However, you must know that you shall not tell anyone of your punishment nor your crime. If you do, you will be brutally murdered in the arena. Understand?" He commands.

"Y-yes," I choke.

He leans in and breathes into my ear, "Win. Win for this district. I know you can," and then abruptly leaves the room. I am left unsure of who's side he is on.

Then, a peacekeeper opens the door and waves for me to exit. I think he sees he puddle of tears I created on the floor. I stand up and slowly walk out, then I see Zenaveve.

She hugs me, "Oh, girl, I thought I'd never see you again!" she squeezes.

"Eh, Yeah! Can you release me a little?" I chuckle.

"Ah, right," she says, then placing her arm around me as we follow the peacekeepers down the stairs and out of the Justice Building. We walk quietly as we cross the entire expanse of the empty square. By law, peacekeepers stand atop towers around it all day and night, even when there is nothing planned. They oversee us like predatory birds, hungry for us to break the rules so they can carry us away. _Too late, I already did._ I think. The chilly and foggy air reminds me that I underdressed.

When we make it to the end, we see a wide opening in the wall around the square that leads to a path of pavement through a shaded area.

"Where are we going?" asks Zenaveve.

"Well they're taking us to the train, I think,"

"What? The train? Did you sign me up for the Games, too?" she says, pulling back.

"No, you're not going into the Games, don't worry. But if I don't win you _will_ die," I smile a smile as fake as Aunt Twinkle's.

"Then where am I going?" she asks as she continues to resist walking faster.

"Platina didn't tell you?"

"No"

"You're going to be my mentor. You are going to teach me how to win…" I say, and she starts walking quickly enough now.

"Why?"

"It was what they asked of me,"

"Well, if your survival is based on a lady who has never killed a person, nor gone camping, you'll be dead in no time. All I can do to help you I have already done," she widens her eyes.

"Great," I pout. I can't help but cry every second I get. My family is gone forever if I don't win.

Trees overhang over the paved path as we walk a good two minutes. I can hear that we are parallel to Main Street, so we must be headed for the train which is located at the bend of Main Street.

Then, the trees give up and the path leads to a long platform. I can see the long, metallic, bullet-like train that resembles many of the skyscrapers I can see around me in the sky. Without hesitation, the peacekeepers unlock a door to the train and order us on.


	7. Chapter 7

_On the train_

I follow behind Zenaveve and her muscular leggings as we take the few steps up to the floor of the train. She takes enough steps forward for the both of us to admire the decadent decor and food on this cart of the train.

"Oh my," she holds her hands to her mouth and her dark eyes glitter.

"It's… enchanting!" I beam whimsically.

There are luxurious chairs around a long mahogany table, rich blue wallpaper with paisley designs lines the walls, crystal clear windows make it feel like a porch, and there is a smorgasbord of food prettier than me. A towering cake centers the table and a multitude of snacks and meals cover the entire table.

"Wow," she gasps.

"Yeah," I say, and take my first steps and immerse myself into the nonexistent barrier on this train between life in 1 and life in the Capitol.

I walk up to the table and awe at the number of foods I can't even comprehend. Zenaveve begins to smile at the opulent couches and lamps. Then, from a room at the front of the cart, comes out an extravagant woman which I notice is no taller than a mailbox.

She raises her hands in the air spastically, "Eek! My darling tributes!" she dances like a child and spins in a circle, "But wait! There are two girls! Unless one of you is a crossdresser. You know, those are quite common in the Capitol!"

I put my hands behind my back and smile, "No, we're both girls, but she isn't a tribute. She is my mentor." I explain.

"Yeah, my name is Zenaveve." Zenaveve introduces herself.

"But where is your boy counterpart?" she points at the empty space next to me with an emerald fingernail. Her curly sea foam wig and wide dress are colored to match.

"I don't have one. You see, I got in trouble and now I have to go alone." I frown.

"Boo! I just hate it when grown-ups try to yell at me! It's okay, though, you don't need boys! They have cooties anyway." she giggles and I begin to question her age. She acts like a five year-old.

"Yeah, I guess. Well, are we allowed to eat? I am starving." I ask, eyeing the feast.

"Yes! You can eat until your belly explodes!" she shrieks and gestures a bomb going off in her stomach and laughs hysterically. Weird.

"Cool, let's eat then!" joins Zenaveve.

I pull out a chair next to Zenaveve and the woman sits down across the table from us. All I can see is her neck and head hence her height. In front of her there isn't enough space for her to make a plate, so she sweeps her arms across the table, knocking at least four platters off of the table. They smash onto the carpet.

"I hope you didn't want those!" she shimmers.

Zenaveve looks at me with concern and I do the same back. I, unlike her, make room for a plate. I put a combination of exotic fruits, pastries, and desserts on my plate. Once the three of us have food and are eating I decide to ask the question I have been dying to ask.

"I-" I start, but am immediately interrupted by the petite powerhouse.

"So, my name is Candy! I am your escort! I will tell you all about the wonders of the capitol and how to be famous so the people love you!" she smiles, flowing her hand to pretend there are spotlights on her.

"Well, thank you," I say, chewing on a gummy piece of fruit that reminds me of pineapple.

"So-" I start again.

"Where is Marble?" she interrupts.

"Who?" Zenaveve asks, swallowing a cracker dipped in caviar.

"Marble! He has been the mentor for the past six years since he won in the 54th Games. Where is he?"

"I don't know; he probably would be here but Zenaveve is being forced to be my mentor so he is most likely just not working this year." I guess.

"Well, hello new mentor!" laughs Candy.

"Hello!" smiles Zenaveve. She seems more tolerant of Candy's childish behavior. Maybe because Candy's foolishness won't mean her death. Oh, wait, it will. I need to remind Zenaveve her life is on the line, too.

"So, Candy," I finally start, "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

She gasps and almost hollers, "How could you?" Oops, I messed up. I glance at Zenaveve who is equally overwhelmed by her sudden change in attitude. "You know, asking a woman how old she is," she begins to make a small smirk, "Is extremely rude and inconsiderate!" she grins, "You should know better," she crosses her arms and pouts. Then, she elevates to a smile then a laugh, "Just kidding! I'm thirty-five by the way!" and giggles some more as she nibbles on a piece of caramel. Her straight, pearly teeth remind me of a wall of peacekeepers.

Zenaveve seems as surprised with her age as I am. Thirty-five? She could get along well with a kid my cousin Paris's age.

Then, after five minutes on the train, it finally starts moving.

"Goody! The train is moving! Next stop, the Capitol! Choo Choo!" Candy exclaims. I wonder if she ever stops shouting.

For the rest of our meal Candy explains the rules of the train such as "no purposeful destruction of property" and "use an inside voice" even though she broke both of those rules in five minutes. She informs me that my room is the one in the back, the master bedroom. Zenaveve will be next door to her in the front of the cart. She tells us where the bathroom is, and what to do in an emergency, "Just scream and holler until a peacekeeper guy finds his way in here to help us!"

Afterward, I go into my designated room. It is larger than even my living room back home and has the largest bed I have ever seen covered in a navy and tangerine sheet. The District One colors. There are long windows on each side of the room and nothing else much but a chair in the corner and a TV across from the bed. Now that we have picked up speed, all I see from the train is the outskirts of the Central City. I think I see the last of the Academy and its spiral of a point. Suddenly, the sunlight is shifted to darkness. We must be in a tunnel under Mt. Coriolanus, the mountain that makes even Central City look small.

As I get comfortable and lie down atop the vast bed, Candy knocks at the door like an impatient door salesman.

"Come in," I say.

"Okie!" she says and peeks her head in the door, "Just so you know, it will be morning we reach the Capitol. You have one of the shortest rides of any district! Ooh! And did you know this train is brand-new? Straight from District 6; Slick and shiny like a potty!" she says in one whole breath and then shuts the door.

Now alone, I take off my blouse and skirt for a more comfortable and clean outfit. Then, the darkness of the tunnel flashes to the light of the evening as we emerge from under Mt. Coriolanus. I look out of the long windows on either side of my bedroom. I am mesmerized by the color and blur of the scenery. A mirror-like lake reflects the mountain along with the dark pine trees and lilac sky. From the other side of the bedroom the sun creates a bronze glaze on the mountain tops and rolling fields. The vibrations from the train hum through my body and in my ears. I mentally grasp the fact that we are whirring down the train tracks at speeds unimaginable.

In the solace of this beauty, I am reminded of the situation I am in. I wonder where my parents are now, and Grandpa, and how Zenaveve feels. I have just escaped Avoxing by choosing to be in The Hunger Games. I sit down on my bed and let this sink in. Despite my relentless training and priceless incentives, I can't help but doubt the probability of my success. _Just stop thinking about it. You can worry in the arena, for now you just need to rest up, eat well, and get famous._ I try to convince myself, but my mind thinks otherwise. _What if I open the train door and jump?_ It would be easy and fast. Who would care about my family, I'd be dead and not there to see it. So easy, just a click, a push, and a jump are all it would take to end it all. So why not? I can see the headlines, _"District One, despite having a volunteer, has no tributes because she killed herself"_

Yes. Just three steps and you won't have to go to the Games. No. I can't let myself do that. I pace back and forth in the room, counting the swirls in the carpet and tracing the chair rail. I start to cry, then to shiver, and then I collapse on my bed. Not for long though. I aimlessly leave my bedroom and to the dining and lounge area. Someone has cleared the table and left it empty except for a bowl of colorful gumballs. I take one, then two, and then stuff a whole handful in my sweatpants. I chew on them for only seconds at a time before swallowing them and then eating another. I can feel my hair sticking up, and my face feels tight. I am a mess.

"You okay? You seem a little… troubled." I hear. I look up and see Zenaveve happily sipping a cup of some hot drink from a mug.

I glare at her like a mad-woman, "Other than the fact that you and me and everyone I love is probably going to die, yes, yes I am doing lovely,"

She puts her mug down on the table and walks over toward me slowly. I know she is going to go off on me now.

"Look, I know you are scared. I understand the whole, 'I thought I was ready but now it's happening and I can't do it' mindset. But you've gotta step it up, girl! You can't do this to yourself! Be the strong girl I know you are, get popular, look pretty, then murder people! There is no backing out and you have got to accept that," she says. Her trademark "in charge" attitude is showing and it always seems to straighten me out. "The sooner you do, you can focus on skills and fighting and whatever comes your way. Train your mind and body every chance you get, and when you can't, enjoy yourself," she says, pointing her arm to her mug.

I pat down my hair and correct my mindless expression. I want to cry now, but I know she will not let that fly. My eyes gloss up and I look at her. No matter the situation, Zenaveve can flip it around into a learning and empowering experience.

"Okay. Yeah, I guess you're right," I sniffle.

"Don't guess, know." she smiles. "Do you think you can kill someone?" she changes the subject.

"Yes," I say.

"For real?" she assures.

"I mean, most likely,"

"We should work on that, too." she says, rubbing my back. "Alright, it's pretty dark and you need all the sleep you can get. Go to bed, but see me if you need anything. I wouldn't recommend finding out what that Candy chick looks like when she is sleeping." she laughs.

"Okay, good night." I say, stepping away.

"Night, Margot." She picks up her mug and goes into her room. The lights on the train are on and the sky is a twilight wonder. For the first time I see stars in my life. Never before have I gazed upon the sky and seen nothing but the sage haze from the city lights. Stars sparkle in the thousands; I could stare at them all night. I can barely see the mountains but a pond reflects the sky perfectly. The only sound now that I am alone is the hum of the train. _I am going to be okay._ I tell myself. Back in bed, I fall asleep not scared for tomorrow, but determined.


	8. Chapter 8

_The Remake Center_

I have been in the sheeny Remake Center for almost two hours, and I haven't met the person they call my "stylist" yet. A man named Ciaran who is thinner than a locker has his hands all over my legs as she shaves them to hairless perfection.

"So? Where's your boy toy from 1?" he asks. Do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their mouths hardly open when they talk Why do the ends of their sentences rise as if they are asking a question? Odd vowels, split words, and always a hiss on the letter s.

"There isn't one," I say. He rinses my leg off with a shower head. I feel exposed in this thin gown lying on a sticky, wet bed.

"Why not?" asks Galahad, a short, young man with hair more purple than a grape. He comes over and lathers my arms with gritty scrub and makes me sit up.

"No one volunteered, it's just me," I say.

"Oh, right! The people here in the Capitol are enthralled with your insisting attitude about volunteering! I bet you've got the most talk, yet! And they haven't even met you!" he laughs loudly and Galahad joins him. It doesn't take much to make these absurd people laugh.

An incredibly tall woman comes from around the curtain beside the bed. Her green corkscrew hair bounces as she wobbles on her heels that are taller than a pencil. Her skin is dyed head to toe in a chiffon, pastel tint.

"How are we looking, boys?" she asks with a deep voice.

"Tenney!" they cheer.

"We are looking great, all we need is to give her an eyebrow waxing and little grease-up!" Galahad slaps his hands together in anticipation.

"Alright, Romeo will be here in five minutes, so make it fast," Tenney wobbles back behind the curtain and I hear her enter an elevator.

"Alrighty," Ciaran checks a document beside the bed, "Margot Lavish, we are going to hone your eyebrows with a little friend of mine I call," he holds up and shakes a piece of wax paper, formatted to the shape of the "ideal eyebrow", "Mr. Fleekie"

"Then, we are gonna glossy you up with fragrant oil," Galahad adds. I feel like I am having a surgery but I'm awake for all of it. The strange words, scary tools, and frightening hand gestures make me uncomfortable.

Ciaran leans over my face and tries to perfectly place the wax sheet. His almost pitch black skin contrasts the white lipstick and eyelashes on his face that flutter only inches from my eyes. He places it down, flattens it out, and gives it a good smack.

"Maybe not the slapping," I suggest. To which Ciaran smacks my leg, "To toughen a girl up!" and he guffaws. Then, he briskly rips off the paper with a horrid noise. My face throbs and I can feel it turn red.

"Gorgeous!" Galahad comments. One equally painful waxing later, Galahad and Ciaran make me stand up and disrobe and then cover my body in a potent grease. I would normally be embarrassed, but it is almost like having a bunch of animals rather than humans on me. When they are finished, I stand uneasily in a thick film of orange-hued oil. Galahad then grabs the same shower head and sprays me with it. As he does so, I look around the room. There are no windows and the elevator I took down here is a long, empty room away. There are various other stations for things I am glad I don't have to experience.

I am left feeling skinless and plucked one I am washed off.

"All done!" Galahad and Ciaran exchange cheek kisses and cheer.

"Your stylist, Romeo, will be here shortly. For now, we have completed our very first remake of Margot Lavish!" claps Galahad. I grab the gown again and put it back on, not before toweling myself dry.

"Bye, Margot!" Galahad says as they head for the elevator.

"Love the name, by the way," comments Ciaran when he pushes the elevator button. Immediately, it opens and the two start talking.

"Oh, hi Romeo!" they smile and then enter the elevator. The door closes and they wave their final farewell.

"Who is this gorgeous young woman?" says Romeo. He is a much older man than I expected, maybe 30, and bears very short hair. He wears a cerulean tuxedo with matching shoes and makeup that remind me of Caesar Flickerman. He is immediately amiable for such mature and formal man.

"Margot Lavish" I grin. He steps toward me observing my legs and face.

"If you don't mind, could you remove your gown ma'am?" he says. People here obviously don't have any shame in asking someone to get naked. I untie the back of the gown and toss it onto the remake bed.

He circles me like Platina did, but in an observant and careful matter and I resist the impulse to cross my arms over my chest.

His bright, arctic eyes shine as his eyes inspect every inch of my body. Now I am embarrassed. He feels much more human than Ciaran and Galahad. Like he hasn't let his wealth get to his head. His skin remains pale, and the only makeup on his face is his teal lipstick. I hate to think it, but he looks like a younger President Snow in a sky outfit.

He stops. "District One: Luxury Items. Colors navy and tangerine. District mascot: the peacock," he thinks aloud. Only last year were the districts assigned colors and an animal as an icon. I have never seen a peacock before, but I heard from my teacher at school they were colorful, vibrant birds with an array of feathers. The only other district mascots I know are 5 with the ringtail cat and 12 with the blue heron. I want to think that District Two has some kind of bear, but I am not certain.

"What are you thinking? For my debut during the chariot rides?" I ask, trying to get his eyes looking at mine.

"Well, surprisingly, I have never seen a district with their outfit as their district animal during the Tribute Parade. Even in the past 3 years when they were assigned. What do you think of this, ma'am?" Romeo says. He reaches down into a scaly bag by his feet and searches until he pulls out a sketchbook. He steps to me, flips through the pages on which I see a wave of colors, and stops at the most beautiful one yet.

"Is this what peacocks look like?" I say, pointing at the drawing. There is a girl wearing an elegant trumpet dress that beams of rich blues, warm greens, and shiny yellows. There are spots of darkness that look like eyes near the bottom, and the top has a stunning azure hue that splits into strands of black up her collar bone. She wears a blue and lemon tiara on her side swept hair.

"My research says this is what peacocks look like ma'am. I have never seen one in person, but their flamboyance amazes me," he says in a breathy voice.

"And you can make me look like this at the Tribute Parade?" I awe.

"Yes, ma'am. Luckily, I designed it to fit any size. However, I was not expecting your stocky stature. Typically, people from 1 are tall and broad. You seem just as strong, just more… compressed," he says almost apologetically. _Compressed?_ His choice of words confuses me on whether or not it is a good thing.

"Okay, so how long do you have until the parade?"

"It starts at three p.m., so I have almost 4 hours to make you an avian masterpiece." he says. Never have I liked being dressed up and pampered, especially when it was for my brother's funeral, but after that no immense hours of makeup could be worse.

"Well," I say, sliding a stool from beside the bed closer to me, "I'll be patient as you retrieve the dress," I smile all agog.

"You mean this dress, ma'am?" Romeo says. He turns behind the curtain of the bed which I cannot see past and I hear him rustling through a door and then the sound of hangers sliding back and forth. Does he already have it?

"Voila," he beams. He holds up the dress on a wooden hanger and it waterfalls down to the tiles. It iridescently sparkles and shines in glorious colors. Iridescent.

"It's beautiful, even more in person," I say. I casually feel for my talisman on my neck. It's not there. I can almost feel my eyes dilate and my mouth tilt.

"Actually, please wait, ma'am," he says. He hangs the dress on the curtain pole and heads for the elevator. "I will be right back,"

"But,"

" _Right back,"_ he assures. The elevator door closes and I hear it zoom down. Instead of troubling myself on where he is, I focus on my talisman. Someone must have taken it off of me while I was getting ready for my remake. Maybe Ciaran, or Galahad. I don't remember anyone touching it, and the rest of my clothes are folded on the table beside the bed. I shuffle through them, then search around the room. It seems that this place is meant to remake multiple tributes at once, but I'm glad no one I will be trying to kill sees me naked.

The slick, shower like walls and floor would easily contrast the colors of the opal and chain, but all I find are more remake stalls. The elevator dings and I rush back to my stool as if I were a well-trained pup.

"I brought you lunch," he says.

"Oh, thank you!" I smile and he hands me a tray of plump grapes, mysterious-looking meat, and a miniature cupcake. I lay the tray down on the table and he asks me to stand up.

"You can munch as you are getting dressed," Romeo tells me.

He lifts the dress over my head as I stand up.

"Stand straight," he says.

He then lowers it onto me and I slip in. I adjust my arms into the sleeves and pull my hair out of the back.

"Okay, let me just do the measurements," he says. After fifteen minutes of things I never knew you could do to a dress, he starts on my hair.

"Are you going to keep it this long in the Games?" he asks.

I never thought about the disadvantages of long hair. "Probably,"

"A few years ago the girl from 1 got her hair pulled and she ended up a kill by District Two,"

"Erm, do you want to cut it?" I worry.

"How about we cut it before your interview the Games. The Capitol would love a new do from you." he offers.

I huff, "Okay,"

Goodbye luscious locks.

Romeo straightens my hair into a formed shape that almost resembles the curtains around the bed.

"It draws the attention to your makeup and the dress," he says.

My eyes are lined with a blue-green gradient of sequins, my eyelashes are extended so much that I can see them, and my skin is lightened. He covers my lips in lipstick that looks just like the dress.

"Go stand in front of the mirror," he tells me.

"Where?"

"Excuse me, ma'am." he apologizes. He pulls a remote from his pocket and presses a button at the windows. Gradually, they transform into mirrors and I can see myself appear. My hair looks unfamiliar but it makes me look older. Stronger. The tiara is subtle and a small addition to the focal point, the dress.

"Do you like it?" He looks satisfied with his work.

"I am blown away. I never even imagined I could look this way," I do a jig and laugh. My talisman compliments the dress perfectly.

I am the most beautiful peacock in the world.


	9. Chapter 9

_Tribute Parade_

From the crystalline elevator I can see the glimmer and shine of the Capitol's colorful buildings. The sun is reflected from many different directions and in the light my dress sparkles. The clear walls of the elevator scare me into thinking I am falling, but the thrill of the ride keeps me smiling.

"Keep your chin up, smile, wave, look independent. Be a woman out there," he says.

"Not going to be a problem," My foot pains from my glass incident in my lapis wedge heels and my dandelion nails feel unnatural, but other than those few issues I feel beautiful. The elevator comes to a stop once we reach the bottom of the Remake Center, an underground deck for the chariots, horses, stylists, and tributes.

The door opens and I see a dark area with enormous gates opening to the main street of the Capitol. Horses and tributes of many colors prepare themselves for their debut. Now shorter than me, I take Romeo's hand as he leads me through the crowd. As he leads me to the chariot, my eyes wander. A pair of tributes that look like siblings are clad in coal armor and are climbing on a black horse carrying a silver chariot. They must be from District 12, the coal industry. I scan the tributes around me. Ones in scaly unitards riding a chariot labeled 4. A couple of tributes wear lush, natural garments that seem hand woven.

"This is it, ma'am" Romeo says, patting a horse that has been dyed a pearl white color.

"And my chariot," I observe. It resembles a sleigh made out of quartz, with dozens of carvings and engravings I can only see if I look closely. Romeo makes me stand on the chariot for practice, but when the horse is moving is when I will have to stand sturdy. He adjusts my uniformed and straight hair for any imperfections and fluffs my dress.

"You don't need me, so I will go see the Head Stylist over there. Just remember what I told you. A peacekeeper should set your horse on its way in a few minutes." he tells me.

"Um, okay." I hesitate.

I remain on top of the chariot, looking down on all of the hustle around me. These are the kids I am going to try to kill. The kids that will try to kill me.

A few times I get dirty looks, short smiles, or jealous frowns. They love my dress as much as I do. I know peacock has to be the best animal you could dress up as now that I know what one is. A pair from 3 tinker with their robotic prosthetics and the duo from 5 are just sitting on their chariot the boy seems peculiar but the girl keeps eyeing me. They wear wavy, radiant colors that remind me of the sun.

Some of them seem nervous but some of them are laughing. I can easily tell how one feels about their outfit just by looking at their face. A group of kids are laughing and talking closely to one another. I look over at Romeo and he holds up five fingers. I have five whole minutes before the world sees me for the first time. I hop down from the chariot and make myself look well-put and authoritative. _I best make an impression._ I think.

I walk over to the group of tributes who are behind 4's chariot.

"Are you going to keep it?" asks the girl from 4 in the scaly dress.

"Finders keepers," says the boy from 4 in the fish-like unitard. The pair from 6 also are staring at something the boy from 4 has.

"Hi, I'm Margot. I just wanted to introduce myself. I am from 1," I amiably introduce myself.

"I'm Cowrie, 4."

"And I am Misty, also from 4," Misty says with a snap of attitude, "and they are from 6," she looks at the kids from 6.

"Otto," the boy mumbles.

"Detrai," the girl murmurs. I hope they're scared of me.

"What've you got there?" I ask. Pointing at Cowrie's hand. I already know what it is. My talisman. I can't comprehend how he got it.

"It's some gnarly jewelry I found on the elevator. It was just sittin' there. 'Come take me' it was saying," he chuckles.

"Can I see it?" I bitterly ask.

"Sure," He hands it to me and I grip it, wondering how I can get it from him with the least amount of conflict. We can fight it out in the arena, if he wants.

"You know," I smirk, "Just recently _I_ lost _my_ talisman. This here looks just like it, and I was wondering if it was mine," I condescendingly say, "What do you think?"

"Well, if it's yours just take it, dude." he says, giving me a caustic tone.

"Very well," I say. I tuck the talisman into my dress and spin around. I strut back to my chariot, proud of myself, but confused by his passive persuasion. _It was easy, so I best not overthink it._

Back on the chariot I latch on the talisman. It perfectly matches the iridescence of the dress. I sit and patiently wait for the beginning of the parade as I watch the tributes work on their final touches. The foggy quartz chariot is cold and it relaxes my nerves. As long as I portray a bossy persona no one will now the crippling fear I behold.

A peacekeeper stands next to the chariot and gives me an optional thumb-up. I glance at Romeo over by the Head stylist and he gives me a sure look. I respond a thumb-up to the peacekeeper and he steps to the ivory horse in front of me. I stand up and hold onto the front of the chariot and fasten my feet as well as I can. Soon, every chariot is checked and we wait for the release. I dart my eyes at the other tributes for just seconds. A young, maybe 14, girl from 7 has fierce makeup and seems more emotionally stable than all of us. Her dress looks like she walked through a pile of autumn leaves and managed to come out stunning.

Suddenly, the chariot starts moving and I nearly fall off of the back. I jerk my head forward as I emerge into the light of day. I forgot, being from 1, I went first. The Panem Anthem roars and cheers from brilliantly dressed people on the streets, out of windows, and perched on rooftops applause and roar all in love of me. I collect my senses, and then beam the most real smile I can. I wave in a cupped hand and blow kisses. _Keep it classy._ The chariot rumbles on the street like the train vibrated on the tracks.

My eyes can barely stand the flash of cameras and the sun. I keep a tight grip on the chariot as my horse gracefully trots down the street. I quickly check see that all of the district's chariots are now onto the streets. The kids from 2 are getting as much love as I am. _Be better._

My dress seems to become a fan as the wind blows it behind me. Luckily my tiara is attached to my hair or it'd be on the ground by now.

Wave, smile, kiss, repeat. I do this until we reach the City Circle, the end of the parade and where the horses pull our chariot right up to President Snow's mansion, and we come to a halt. The music ends with a flourish.

The President, just recently inaugurated after his mother resigned, Coriolanus Snow is standing atop his balcony. He gives the welcoming speech to the tributes and the Capitol citizens. His young icy eyes stare down at the tributes one by one. His hairless face promises a new and young change to Panem, but one should know presidents never change their ways.

With a grand applause, the chariots parade around the circle one final time then disappear into the Training Center. As the gates close behind me I look down and see Galahad and Ciaran, jumping with joy.

"Get down here!" Galahad screams.

"You were _marvelous_!" Ciaran exclaims.

The two engulf me with praise and chatter as they take off my tiara and scrub off my makeup painfully. Their proactivity and energy never ceases to stay hasty. Once they have exposed my natural face they set me free. I watch as my chariot and horse is led away. _Thank you for making this perfect_. I thank the horse.

I see the pair from 2 giving me nasty looks and the two from 6 are talking about me already. I have done well, all thanks to Romeo and my prep duo. No matter their strange ways, they helped me get a head start in the Games that start even before the arena.


	10. Chapter 10

_The Training Center_

Since yesterday at the Tribute Parade, I have only begun to get used to the devices and appliances on our floor. The Training Center is a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams with a basement for training. This will be our home until the actual Games begin. Each district has an entire floor so that makes me on the first one, just above the lobby.

The shower by my quarters is a mechanical wonder and is something straight from District 6, I imagine. There are hundreds of buttons and switches for heat, pressure, soaps, and many other options I could not even think of a reason to use.

Between breakfast and dinner, I munch on the random plates of food around our floor. I program the closet for an outfit to my choosing. The windows zoom in and out on parts of the city at my choice. You need only whisper a type of food from a long menu into a mouthpiece and it appears, before you in less than a minute. Candy tells me not to eat too much, but when I am hungry I eat.

The past day is our only day in the Training Center where we don't go to the training area. They let the tributes and their prep teams, mentors, escorts, and stylists discuss strategy and agendas.

I wander around our floor investigating the peculiar gadgets, eating, and most importantly, crying my eyes out from fear and anxiety. This is, until Zenaveve finds me in my room and drags me to the dining room for a "dinner of champions".

Around the table are Candy, Romeo, Galahad, Ciaran, Zenaveve, and me.

"Hi," I say to my stylist and prep duo, "Nice to see you here…"

"Oh, don't be mopey. We're a team until you are in that area. And hopefully," Galahad looks around for approval, "We will be a team afterward too!" he says. Candy and Ciaran find this hilarious and start snorting hysterically for a good ten seconds. Zenaveve and I exchange looks as Romeo is tunneled in on his food.

"Let's talk… strategy!" Candy announces, clapping her hands. Galahad replies with a clap too.

"Of what sort?" asks Zenaveve, biting into a colorful fish.

"Well, tomorrow is Margot's first day of training!" Candy smiles, sucking on what she was named for. With all of this food at her disposal one would think she would at least be a little appreciative.

Zenaveve and I chuckle nervously. It won't be my first day of training, but if it were Zenaveve wouldn't be here right now. I serve myself some fruit salad and an Avox maid enters the floor from the elevator.

"Could you," Romeo swallows a bite of food, "Refill our glasses?" he says, motioning to the table. The chocolate-haired Avox girl nods her head and rushes to a pitcher of water.

"And who knows how training goes down? I'm not much of a mentor, you see. This is my first year," Zenaveve admits.

"I noticed. Last year there was…" Romeo thinks hard, tapping his fork.

"Silver!" Candy says.

"Ah, yes. Silver. Where is he?" Romeo asks. Galahad and Ciaran look at us wondering the same thing. Do we tell them the truth? What if they tell someone else and we get Avoxed for spilling our secret?

"He… um… He retired." I cough.

"They can do that?" Ciaran asks as his new, tiger mohawk flops back and forth. The Capitolians share looks of validity and shrug their shoulders.

"So, this lady is your mentor even though she hasn't a lick of Hunger Games info?" Galahad eyes Zenaveve.

"Oh! I forgot, my name's Zenaveve. I completely forgot you guys just got here. I'm from 1, like Margot," She introduces herself.

"Well, welcome to the Capitol!" Ciaran spreads his arms out. I realize that Romeo is quiet and solely focused on eating.

Romeo finally looks up from his plate and says to Zenaveve, "Training is a five-day routine where the tributes spend time learning valuable skills for the Games. They start tomorrow and she'll be with the other tributes and some trainers will help her."

"Cool. So where will we be tomorrow while she is gone?" asks Zenaveve. A sudden waft of spice and herbs drifts across the table before I see the Avox girl open a buffet tray with a fatty, steamy turkey inside. She stares at me too much.

"Well, I know I will be working on some clothes for my recent dress orders. My designs are immediately popular after the Tribute Parade," Romeo cuts at the turkey.

"We have a hair-dying session planned tomorrow!" Ciaran and Galahad shrill in excitement. They must be the strangest men I have ever met. I wonder if every man in the Capitol is like them until I remember Romeo's formal and reserved personality.

"And I will be scheduling your interview with Caesar Flickerman on your last day before the Games!" cheers Candy. Her daily costume is an amethyst and violet mess. Her wig is pencil straight, like mine at the Parade, except hers reaches her knees and is dyed a color similar to what Galahad was wearing when I first saw him.

Caesar Flickerman is a commentator and show host of the live Hunger Games. He hosts a public interview with each of the tributes for an incredibly short time and during the Games he commentates the live footage. Like all Capitolians, he keeps a trademark color palette in his outfits.

We eat in a friendly silence until I speak up.

"What will my persona be in the public eye?" I ask everyone for suggestions.

"Do a fierce, sassy attitude and scare off the other tributes. Send a chill down the audience's spine!" Galahad growls and stretches his hand like a paw.

"That's actually smart," Zenaveve agrees, "Being from 1 you already have a social advantage. You should do a brassy, bold personality. It may scare the others and it should appeal to the Capitolians."

"I can do that. I am pretty extroverted, anyway." I shrug.

"Do it!" screams Candy. We all jerk our heads to her and she seems happy with herself. No sound but the elevator and the hum of the cars outside can be heard, we wait silently for an explanation for her outburst. "That's a good idea," she says.

"We've had this lady for you guys from 1 for almost five years…" whispers Ciaran, laughing to Zenaveve and me. I can't imagine dealing with her child-like behavior for that long.

"So, should I do a more bloodthirsty and fierce attitude or just a cocky and competitive character?" I ask.

"Whichever you can pull off," says Galahad. Before I answer I notice the Avox girl watching me intently while wiping a window. What is wrong with her?

"I could do both, but it'd be easier to just be cocky," I say. I try to pretend I don't see her, but she knows I do. Her silvery eyes seem to almost see through me and into my mind. I wonder how she became an Avox.

"Okay, just do that. Work on it if you have to," says Romeo.

"Right,"

Everyone seems done with their meals. Romeo snaps his finger at the Avox girl, "Come clean this up,"

She comes around with a cart and takes everything no one touched. She comes back a second time and wheels out our leftovers. Romeo and my prep duo thank us for inviting them to dinner, even though we all know we didn't invite them. The Capitol did.

Once they leave Candy, Zenaveve, and I discuss training more in depth.

"One of my favorite parts is at the end when everyone gets a score! It means how well they did during their 'private sessions' where they show off their ninja skills!" Candy karate chops into the air, almost knocking off her wig.

"So they're scored on performance?"

"Yeah! Knives, swords, combat, plants, all that stuff. The score is from one to twelve. One means you're probably," she slides her thumb across her neck, "And 12 means everyone's got their bet on you!"

I want a 12. I hope they will like to see my sword fighting. Luckily I have no fear in killing anyone. Especially when it means my life plus my whole families.

In bed, I count my days until my certain death. I have four days of training, one day of a private session, interview day, and then the Games. Six days after tonight I have until the arena. _Get some sleep, rest up._


	11. Chapter 11

_The Training Center_

Since yesterday at the Tribute Parade, I have only begun to get used to the devices and appliances on our floor. The Training Center is a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams with a basement for training. This will be our home until the actual Games begin. Each district has an entire floor so that makes me on the first one, just above the lobby.

The shower by my quarters is a mechanical wonder and is something straight from District 6, I imagine. There are hundreds of buttons and switches for heat, pressure, soaps, and many other options I could not even think of a reason to use.

Between breakfast and dinner, I munch on the random plates of food around our floor. I program the closet for an outfit to my choosing. The windows zoom in and out on parts of the city at my choice. You need only whisper a type of food from a long menu into a mouthpiece and it appears, before you in less than a minute. Candy tells me not to eat too much, but when I am hungry I eat.

The past day is our only day in the Training Center where we don't go to the training area. They let the tributes and their prep teams, mentors, escorts, and stylists discuss strategy and agendas.

I wander around our floor investigating the peculiar gadgets, eating, and most importantly, crying my eyes out from fear and anxiety. This is, until Zenaveve finds me in my room and drags me to the dining room for a "dinner of champions".

Around the table are Candy, Romeo, Galahad, Ciaran, Zenaveve, and me.

"Hi," I say to my stylist and prep duo, "Nice to see you here…"

"Oh, don't be mopey. We're a team until you are in that area. And hopefully," Galahad looks around for approval, "We will be a team afterward too!" he says. Candy and Ciaran find this hilarious and start snorting hysterically for a good ten seconds. Zenaveve and I exchange looks as Romeo is tunneled in on his food.

"Let's talk… strategy!" Candy announces, clapping her hands. Galahad replies with a clap too.

"Of what sort?" asks Zenaveve, biting into a colorful fish.

"Well, tomorrow is Margot's first day of training!" Candy smiles, sucking on what she was named for. With all of this food at her disposal one would think she would at least be a little appreciative.

Zenaveve and I chuckle nervously. It won't be my first day of training, but if it were Zenaveve wouldn't be here right now. I serve myself some fruit salad and an Avox maid enters the floor from the elevator.

"Could you," Romeo swallows a bite of food, "Refill our glasses?" he says, motioning to the table. The chocolate-haired Avox girl nods her head and rushes to a pitcher of water.

"And who knows how training goes down? I'm not much of a mentor, you see. This is my first year," Zenaveve admits.

"I noticed. Last year there was…" Romeo thinks hard, tapping his fork.

"Silver!" Candy says.

"Ah, yes. Silver. Where is he?" Romeo asks. Galahad and Ciaran look at us wondering the same thing. Do we tell them the truth? What if they tell someone else and we get Avoxed for spilling our secret?

"He… um… He retired." I cough.

"They can do that?" Ciaran asks as his new, tiger mohawk flops back and forth. The Capitolians share looks of validity and shrug their shoulders.

"So, this lady is your mentor even though she hasn't a lick of Hunger Games info?" Galahad eyes Zenaveve.

"Oh! I forgot, my name's Zenaveve. I completely forgot you guys just got here. I'm from 1, like Margot," She introduces herself.

"Well, welcome to the Capitol!" Ciaran spreads his arms out. I realize that Romeo is quiet and solely focused on eating.

Romeo finally looks up from his plate and says to Zenaveve, "Training is a five-day routine where the tributes spend time learning valuable skills for the Games. They start tomorrow and she'll be with the other tributes and some trainers will help her."

"Cool. So where will we be tomorrow while she is gone?" asks Zenaveve. A sudden waft of spice and herbs drifts across the table before I see the Avox girl open a buffet tray with a fatty, steamy turkey inside. She stares at me too much.

"Well, I know I will be working on some clothes for my recent dress orders. My designs are immediately popular after the Tribute Parade," Romeo cuts at the turkey.

"We have a hair-dying session planned tomorrow!" Ciaran and Galahad shrill in excitement. They must be the strangest men I have ever met. I wonder if every man in the Capitol is like them until I remember Romeo's formal and reserved personality.

"And I will be scheduling your interview with Caesar Flickerman on your last day before the Games!" cheers Candy. Her daily costume is an amethyst and violet mess. Her wig is pencil straight, like mine at the Parade, except hers reaches her knees and is dyed a color similar to what Galahad was wearing when I first saw him.

Caesar Flickerman is a commentator and show host of the live Hunger Games. He hosts a public interview with each of the tributes for an incredibly short time and during the Games he commentates the live footage. Like all Capitolians, he keeps a trademark color palette in his outfits.

We eat in a friendly silence until I speak up.

"What will my persona be in the public eye?" I ask everyone for suggestions.

"Do a fierce, sassy attitude and scare off the other tributes. Send a chill down the audience's spine!" Galahad growls and stretches his hand like a paw.

"That's actually smart," Zenaveve agrees, "Being from 1 you already have a social advantage. You should do a brassy, bold personality. It may scare the others and it should appeal to the Capitolians."

"I can do that. I am pretty extroverted, anyway." I shrug.

"Do it!" screams Candy. We all jerk our heads to her and she seems happy with herself. No sound but the elevator and the hum of the cars outside can be heard, we wait silently for an explanation for her outburst. "That's a good idea," she says.

"We've had this lady for you guys from 1 for almost five years…" whispers Ciaran, laughing to Zenaveve and me. I can't imagine dealing with her child-like behavior for that long.

"So, should I do a more bloodthirsty and fierce attitude or just a cocky and competitive character?" I ask.

"Whichever you can pull off," says Galahad. Before I answer I notice the Avox girl watching me intently while wiping a window. What is wrong with her?

"I could do both, but it'd be easier to just be cocky," I say. I try to pretend I don't see her, but she knows I do. Her silvery eyes seem to almost see through me and into my mind. I wonder how she became an Avox.

"Okay, just do that. Work on it if you have to," says Romeo.

"Right,"

Everyone seems done with their meals. Romeo snaps his finger at the Avox girl, "Come clean this up,"

She comes around with a cart and takes everything no one touched. She comes back a second time and wheels out our leftovers. Romeo and my prep duo thank us for inviting them to dinner, even though we all know we didn't invite them. The Capitol did.

Once they leave Candy, Zenaveve, and I discuss training more in depth.

"One of my favorite parts is at the end when everyone gets a score! It means how well they did during their 'private sessions' where they show off their ninja skills!" Candy karate chops into the air, almost knocking off her wig.

"So they're scored on performance?"

"Yeah! Knives, swords, combat, plants, all that stuff. The score is from one to twelve. One means you're probably," she slides her thumb across her neck, "And 12 means everyone's got their bet on you!"

I want a 12. I hope they will like to see my sword fighting. Luckily I have no fear in killing anyone. Especially when it means my life plus my whole families.

In bed, I count my days until my certain death. I have four days of training, one day of a private session, interview day, and then the Games. Six days after tonight I have until the arena. _Get some sleep, rest up._


	12. Chapter 12

_6 days until the Games_

I wake up in a hot, heavy knot of sheets and covers. I can feel my once aligned hair in dozens of different directions like it needs escape from my head. From the long window the city lights reflect in. I sit up on one elbow, watching the strange cars and colorful people in the streets. This city never seems to sleep.

I roll out of my bed to use the bathroom. While washing my hands in the million-buttoned sink, I feel a presence to my left, from the door. My hands fly up and water flicks everywhere. The Avox girl? It's a good thing Zenaveve taught me how to stay quiet when I am scared.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, wiping my hands on my shirt. She holds her finger up to her mouth and widens her eyes. Her uniformly shaped brown hair and ghost-white skin seem uncanny. Her puffy cheeks give away her missing tongue.

With a boney finger she points to a ventilation gate on the wall.

"No!" I whisper. She places her finger between to others on her other hand and slides it out sharply. "I am not letting you out,"

She gets on her knees and shakes her hands with a pain I remember having at the Mayoral Office. In a way, we are very similar. I could be one of her if I chose differently during Platina's offer. Her scarlet uniform looks awfully uncomfortable.

"You want to go in _there_?" I know she will fit, but I don't want her to think she can. She gives me baby doll eyes. "Do you understand how much trouble I will get into? They have eyes and ears everywhere!" I whisper at her. She looks around the bathroom and then at me. There are no cameras visible, but who knows. "I don't want you or me caught, I shouldn't"

Then, she does something I would never ask for. She opens her mouth, exposing a mangled, scarred mess. She really is tongueless. I feel sorry for her. I know she wants pity. Why they remove criminal's tongues says something about the Capitol. The districts have no voice, but if you make one for yourself they take it away.

"Do you promise no one will find out?"

She nods her head eagerly.

"Do you even know your way around in there?"

Another panicked nod.

I breathe angrily. I want to free her, but all I know about her is how she looks. She could be a murderer. Then again, so will I in a few days.

I stand on top of the shiny countertop and I see the Avox girl crying in thankfulness. "You better be thankful," I hiss. I simply lift the gate and it opens smoothly. She steps up beside me, careful not to make a sound. She puts her arms into the vent and I grab her waist, ready to hoist her up. "Three, two, one," I push her up and she easily slides in like a snake into a hole.

"Eungoo," she echoes into the vent.

"You're welcome. Don't get caught…"

I hope I made a smart decision.


	13. Chapter 13

_Training Gym_

Deep underground the Training Center the 23 of us wait for someone to dismiss us to the Training gym. I trace my finger along a long bench that holds 12 of us and one next to it holds the other 11. All of us tributes wear a thin unitard with their district number printed on the arm. My "1" is faded as if someone has worn it before. The stone, bleak room has only two exits, the elevator and the door to the Training gym. This is where a man named Septimus Lickprivick comes into the room. Septimus is the head trainer for The Hunger Games. His job is to explain the object of each station, the ways you can die in the arena, and to get the tributes in shape to compete. I don't listen for most of his speech, instead I analyze the other kids around me. Luckily, I look like the strongest girl here. Most of the boys could sit on me, though. The one sitting next to me is the girl from 7 with the fearsome makeup and cold eyes. Her hair contrasts her face as a curly, blonde work of art.

When Septimus says, "You may begin," I return my attention to him. We all stand up and file into the door. The boy from 9 smells awful, like hay and sweat.

Before us is a warehouse of a room. Its three story ceilings and steel walls hold dozens of stations and devices all painted in the Capitol colors of black and red. I smell rubber and iron and finally the kids around me disperse to the station of their choice.

I stand still, watching the cliques form as if it were instinct. The champs, congregating at the throwing knife station. I see the tributes from 2 and 4. All they need is me. I see the intellects from 6 and 3 by the flora recognition mechanism as they discuss the edible plants nervously. The kids with no chance loiter between stations: The tributes from 8, 12, and 11.

"Just gonna stand here?" Septimus spanks my shoulder and brings me back to reality, "Get on it!"

I stutter and get my feet moving. I head toward the career tributes. _Bold, strong, confident._

"So, what're your names?" I flirt. _Too blunt! Abort Mission!_

"Vigor," says a black-haired boy slapping the two on his arm.

"Diana," says the black-haired girl from 2, spinning a knife between her fingers.

"You're the lady who took that shiny thing?" points the boy from 4.

"This one?" I pull out the talisman, twiddling it like Diana with her knife.

"Yeah!" _What a doofus he is!_

"So, what makes you think you can join this wolf pack, yes?" Diana eyes me up and down critically.

"We're getting right to the questions, aren't we?" I snigger. "Well, _typically_ ," I speak to her like a child, "The kids from 1, 2, and 4 tend to stick together in a group called the 'champ pack'"

"I'm not dumb," Diana growls.

"I'm not inferring you are. In fact, I think you're very intelligent _and_ skilled. I'd like to join your 'wolf pack'" I smile.

"Show us what you've got," The girl from 4 holds out a spear.

"I'm not the best at spear throwing, but I'd like to show you what I _am_ good at," I push down the spear and look over at a rack of swords.

I scroll my finger across the assortment of blades as the four other champs watch me. I have to prove my worth. I have to intimidate them and I am not winning so far. The kids from 2 who look like siblings seem to not budge at my sight.

I select long, pristine hook swords. I may as well show them what I am best at. Around the sword rack are about a dozen dummies. Septimus said they were as strong as a human body. Callahanorio could resist every slash, so I wonder how these will stand.

I strut in front of a dummy and glance at the champs as I grip the swords in my hands. I grin and then show them what I am made of. I lift my sword and thrash and slash the blade on his body with swift, clean sweeps. I move to the next dummy; decapitated. I gallantly pivot to each dummy, instantly lacerating its limbs. Slice, slash, stab. Swing, jab, slash.

Soon, all twelve dummies stand headless and limbless. I turn to the champs and present a bow, "Voila,"

Diana, Vigor, and the girl from 4 seem satisfied, but Cowrie just gives me a nonsensical look.

"So, you really can fight, but can you kill, yes?" Vigor asks me once I am back by them.

"Not surprisingly, I have never killed anyone, but I don't think I will have a problem ending someone's life with one of these," I caress the hook swords dauntlessly.

"Good. I say we keep her, she seems really good, yes?" Diana says. I give her an appreciative smile.

"Yeah, she's a killer. Almost as brutal as the girl from 5." Vigor looks over to the archery station.

"I like you. We want as many fighters as we can get," says the girl from four. Her reddish brown hair is to her ears giving her a sweet, childlike look. I wonder what she can do in battle. "I'm Misty, by the way,"

"Margot," I say.

"Cowrie?" Vigor taps his shoulder, "You like her?" They all talk about me like I am not there.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,"

"Great, welcome to the wolf pack. First thing's first. In the arena we _do not_ betray the pack, nor do we fail to provide a service. Understood?"

"Easy. That won't be an issue for me," I grin. I can't stop thinking that we are all going to die.

"Misty and I are gonna check out the shelter-building spot," Cowrie announces.

"Okay, we should, um," Vigor pauses.

"Do plant identification," I finish.

"Yeah,"

They leave us be as we head to the large screen on the gym wall. A long keypad has buttons galore with numerous icons of leaves and flowers. We spend a few minutes figuring out how it works until we get the hang of it. Vigor has a knack for it, but Diana and I fall short. There is no room for error when you are going to starve.

"You know, I was surprised by your unusual name," Diana points out as we stare into the keypad, focused on quickly tapping the correct plant for each question.

"Really? Why is that?"

"Honestly, kids from one tend to have… dumb names. Like, _Sunshine, Velvet, Glitter_. What's with your name, yes?"

I want to disagree, but all three of those names go to my school. "Well, Margot means pearl. My mom just liked it, I guess," I explain. Her eyes are wide and a bright, starry green that shines against her pale skin and black hair. In fact, she is almost like a fairy. Vigor and Diana's green eyes surpass mine based on beauty.

"Diana is an okay name, I guess," she says. Her eyes flicker between the keypad and the screen. So far we have only mastered a few plants. Vigor says he is going to the archery station to scare away the girls from 8 and 9. I don't like that we have to scare them, even if the winner is bound to be one of us champs.

By the end of the hour, Diana and I have almost perfected our flora recognition tests. I don't need to spend much time on combat anyway; that will come at the private sessions.

At the knot tying area the five of us introduce ourselves.

"What can _you_ do?" I ask Misty.

"Well, I'm no volunteer," They all look at me, "But I can use a spear very well. Back in Four most of us fished, so I learned at a young age the most effective ways to kill fish. Spearing just came easy,"

"I'd like to see you all show off your skills," I say. "I mean, you all required _so much_ effort to join your pack, so I wanna see what makes you eligible,"

"He can make weapons out of anything. Sticks, pebbles, bark, I mean anything," Diana says about Vigor. He simply nods his head and continues on his hitch.

My fingers weave an intricate knot step by step as I read the instructions. "How to tie a hunter's bend _"_ It is called. Diana and Vigor carefully follow their ropes but Misty and Cowrie seem to struggle.

"Being from Four, isn't tying knots like… a known thing?" I ask. Vigor and Diana seem to wonder the same thing.

"The only knots I know are good for nets and boats, not snares and hitching," Misty says.

"All I ever did growing up in Four was prepare fish for export and send them off on boats and planes," says Cowrie.

"Oh,"

"Being from One," Cowrie starts with an edge, "Why aren't you bedazzled like a rock candy?" he asks.

"Well, because we are all required to wear our assigned garments, Cowrie sweety," I retort. He seems defeated. _Don't start it with me, I can kill you whenever I want in that arena._

"I can throw knives, yes," announces Diana.

"Is that your best skill?" Misty asks.

"Yes. I think,"

"So we've got a stabber, two throwers, a crafter, and a… hauler?" I say. I check Cowrie's arm muscles. They are deeply tanned and larger than mine.

"Did anyone here volunteer?" asks Vigor.

"Me," says Cowrie immediately.

"Really?" says Vigor.

"Yeah, he did, I was there," Misty says.

"What for?" I ask.

"Money," he says bluntly.

"That's it, yes?" Vigor asks.

"Yep, my dad just wanted to start a new life in the wealthy areas of 4. Like where Misty lives," Cowrie says. I wish my reason to be here was that simple.

"Oh, I do not," denies Misty.

"So, did he make you train?" I ask.

"Kinda, he made me practice strength and swimming, but not much else," so he can't use a weapon?  
"What can you hunt with?" Diana asks nervously. Who wants a harmless swimmer on their team?

"Well, anyone with a knife can kill, right?"

"Maybe,"

"We ought to teach you a thing or two," I suggest.

I begin to think about everyone's names. Vigor and Diana. Their names have a sense of edge and strength. As do most kids from 2. In the past few years there have been kids like Armor, Steele, and Athena.

Misty and Cowrie. Misty's name is awfully unoriginal, but Cowrie is something I have never heard.

"Are we going to acknowledge the elephant in the room?" I ask. Misty and Diana look over toward the buff girl from 5. "Not her! Me!"

"What about you?" Cowrie asks. _Idiot._

"The Pardon, why I'm here," I roll my eyes.

"Oh yeah!" Cowrie smiles like he had discovered something miraculous.

"Well, thank you for asking, because I knew you were all waiting for someone to. I vetoed my Pardon because my family wanted me to, because my grandfather needed expensive surgery and we needed the money," I don't want to get him legs anymore.

"So you trained for this, and volunteered,"

"Yes, Cowrie. I trained and volunteered," I say.

"Cool, same!" I swear I will kill this boy in a heartbeat if it comes down to it.

"I thought we were going to do the whole, 'big issue but everyone ignores it because it is obvious' kind of thing, but I was wondering why exactly you chose to do this, yes?" Vigor says.

"I just felt the tension, I felt you guys wanted to know. But now all but one of us can die knowing why I came here,"

"Lovely," Diana remarks.

The five of us manage to learn a substantial amount of knots over the few hours we have left until lunch. Diana promises she will show me her throwing knives and will teach me how to do it better than I can now after lunch.

At lunch the 23 of us sit at five different tables. I see the tables with their respective cliques, much like the gym. The intellects (plus macho lady) from 5, 6, and 3. The gatherers and the hopeless ones from 9, 11, and 12. The insignificant underdogs from 8 and 10. And the two from 7 sit alone, but across from one another at their table. The girl seems too good for the boy.

"So, I see the alliances have formed already," Misty points out, eating a meaty sub.

"Yeah, and there are our first targets," Vigor eyes the table with 9, 11, and 12.

"They should be easy, especially if they go to the Cornucopia," I say. I hate it, but it's true. The last time anyone from those districts won was in 11 almost ten years ago.

"What if I die?" Cowrie randomly asks.

"We celebrate, yes?" Diana says casually, eating her salad like a bird, tiny pecks and munches.

What is so twisted about The Hunger Games is that alliances are formed, friends are made, and people trust one another, but in the end they all know only one person is making it out alive. If that person is me, I hope I don't get too close to anyone.

"Let's give the nerds a little stare," Misty says.

"How so?" Vigor asks.

"Scare 'me. Just glare and smirk,"

"Um, okay," I say. The five of us look over at the round-haired girl from 6 and she seems bloodless when she sees us. Her face drains and she looks at the boy next to her. The whole table of kids soon are paralyzed by our gaze. I feel like an angry cat, just staring at the tributes like mice. Soon it is more awkward for us than them and we resume eating.

"I guess that worked, maybe," I say.

"Sure it did, yes," Vigor ensures.

"It's not like they aren't doomed already. If we're lucky, the Gamemakers will kill them for us."

"What's a Gamemaker" asks Cowrie. _He's going to die._

"A Gamemaker," I look at him to make sure he's looking, "Is a person who controls every inch of the arena. The air around you, the ground below your feet, the animals, the plants, weather, everything. They will kill you if the Capitol hasn't gotten their dosage of murder in a while." I say.

"Gnarly!" He says.

Misty rolls her eyes, "Not really!"

"Yeah, no. A good amount of people are mauled by animals or swept away by disasters each year in the arena," I say.

"Not if we keep them entertained!" Cowrie says something smart for once.

"True, and that's why, no matter how gory, we have to be predators," I say. "Besides, the five of us with our skills are unbeatable,"

"Does anyone know anything about the other tributes?" Diana asks as she bites into a tomato like an apple.

"There's Maitland from 5, the chunky girl," Vigor glances over at her. She weighs more than the rest of her table combined. Maybe almost 150 pounds, and she is seventeen at least. I hope she can't run.

"We may need to look out for her," Misty chuckles.

"There's Otto and Detrai from Six," Cowrie says. Those are the pale boy and the girl with round hair.

"I only know you guys and the boy from Eight, Glove," Diana says. I look over at him. His rough brown hair is all I see because he has his head down; Not a thing of food is near him. He obviously knows the situation he is in for. I remember seeing him training, but only with a stick in hand and starting a fire. Everyone knows fires draw attention in the arena.

"I recognize almost everyone, but know no one's name. I remember most of them from the parade," I admit, "Speaking of which, did you guys see 12's costumes?"

"Yeah, they were pretty cool. I hated ours," Vigor says.

"Why?"

"It was heavy and hot. Also, you were the focal point, you stole our show," He glares.

"That's because I was in front. Besides, you guys looked great," I say.

"At least you didn't look like a sardine," pouts Misty.

"I thought yours was - _both of yours_ were really cool," I say. _Wait! I need to be boastful!_ "But I, honestly, think mine was a show-stopper. All thanks to my stylist," I flutter my eyes. I need to keep my persona, no soft-girl talk.

"Yeah, well," Diana stutters.

"The kids from Seven were cool," Cowrie cuts up a thick fish filet.

"Yeah, the girl was really pretty. She looks a little dangerous, though," I say. I noticed that she can throw axes as easily as dodgeballs.

"But guess who is even more dangerous?" Vigor motions his hand around the five of us.

"Yeah we are! Yes!" Diana cheers. The other kids from other tables look at us.

"Woo!" Cowrie pumps his fist in the air.

"It looks like we've got a concrete alliance," I chuckle.

A chubby Avox boy comes around to all of the tables and collects our trays and then Septimus steps in the room and stands in front of the doors back to the Training Gym. "You have another three hours until your training for the day is up. Use it wisely, or else you _will_ die," he gives a shallow nod and opens the glassy doors back to the gym.

We agree to work on our most avid skills for the next hour to quell the other tributes' hopes. Not only will the winner be one of us, but if I put my months of training to use it will be me. With a sparring trainer, I practice everything from balancing on odd terrains while sword fighting, to learning about the best places to target while dueling. Zenaveve was a mediocre swordsman, but could never teach me the technicalities other than just swiftness and strokes. Contrarily, this trainer knows a great amount about swords and the other tributes seem frightened to watch me sunder the dummies like butter.

As soon as I finish, I see Vigor headed toward me, scraping a stick with a knife to sharpen it.

I chuckle and Vigor looks at me confused, "What?"

"It's just, why would you want to sharpen a scrawny stick of you had a perfectly honed knife right there?" He looks back and forth between his possessions. "And I don't think you're supposed to remove anything from the wildlife stations either," I say. He drops the stick right onto the floor and waves his arm to follow him. "What do you want?" I ask as he leads me toward a small excerpt of earth, a perfect replica of a forest with rocks and trees. Most tributes practice tree-climbing and fire-starting here. He sits down and I sit next to him.

"So, how's it going?" he asks.

"Fine, actually I learned a lot,"

"Don't let the kids know,"

"They just think I'm practicing," I say. "You?"

"Well, I managed to make a weapon out of a stick and a stone, a leaf and some sand, and even a blade of grass and a water bottle," he says slowly, "I just wish I could, y'know, _fight_ like Diana and you,"

"Did you volunteer?"

"No, but Diana did, yes"

"Really? She didn't tell me when I asked,"

"I think Cowrie interrupted her," he rolls his eyes.

"Why did she?"

"Honor, glory, riches," he says.

"So she must be quite the knife thrower,"

"She could hit you from ten meters away, square in the neck, yes" he shutters. This may be true in training, but people change in real combat.

"Well, since you're from Two, you are already a champ. You look well-fed, strong, and you're smart. Can you use a knife?"

"If I was in dire need, yes, probably," he admits.

"Well, I will teach you how to use a few different blades,"

"Rea-"

" _If_ you teach _me_ how to make some tools from nothing," I smile.

"Deal!" His eyes flash green, almost like a traffic light. Just like Diana's.

Vigor asks me questions about my surroundings, mostly rhetorical, and it seems to mentally unfold the exceeding uses of everything around us. The dirt and moss are cold and relaxing and the room seems to have weather of its own. It's amazing what the Capitol does with its technology.

"Kids get ropes in the Games, right?" I ask.

"Duh, didn't you have a trainer who taught you, like, _everything_?"

"Yes, but unlike most trainers, mine never actually went into the Games,"

"Yikes,"

"She's great, _and_ my mentor,"

"How?"

 _Because I committed a felony and was sentenced to choose going to The Hunger Games with detrimental exceptions including having my old trainer be my mentor._

"Just 'cause," I stray. "Anyway, since they get ropes, I can use this…" I pick up a rock the size of my fist and knot the rope around it, tightly fastening it to the end of the rope like a pendulum. I swing the rope and the rock gets moving, spinning faster as it whizzes around in circles. "This could kill someone," I laugh.

"Well, maybe. If you hit them directly in the skull it would," He corrects me.

"Well, that's where I would aim," I grin. A quick, almost painless punch hits me right in the jaw, completely knocking me out.


	14. Chapter 14

_Training Center Clinic_

A purplish haze swirls and bubbles as I pry open my eyes. A large orb of sky-blue hair seems to bob about above my head.

"Ooh! You're waking up, young lady!" Her voice is too much for my situation. My hand goes to my jaw and I feel a deep throb pulsing my entire face. "I wouldn't touch that!"

I go to open my mouth and say, "Yeah, no kidding," but a sharp, piercing pain is jolted throughout my body like a lightning bolt, ten times worse than the glass back home. I wince and my eyes water.

"No! Be careful, relax! We're just about to put in the Morphling to kill the pain so we can fix you right up!" She smiles. _No! Not Morphling! Cut open my face while I'm wide awake, just don't inject that killer drug into me!_ I shake as much as I can and groan. "Shh… We've got the stuff to have you completely healed in just a day, so just relax, young lady," I try to scream, but it hurts. Never could someone let the same thing that killed their brother into their own body.

I feel a needle in my arm, which I would normally squirm to, but it is the least of my worries right now.

Again, I wake up to a blur and I can hear Candy talking. I recognize the ceiling back at my quarters on the first floor. I moan to let anyone know I am awake.

"Margot! You woke up!" I can hear her feet tapping and she leans over me, flinging a lollipop from her wig onto my face.

"Augh!"

"Oopsies! Do you like my dress?" _Yes, Candy, I love your dress. I love it especially when you completely ignore the agony I am in and make it all about your confectionery clothing!_

"Leave the girl, she's practically immobile," I hear Zenaveve walk in. Immobile, it sounds derogatory but it's true. Zenaveve sits down quietly at the end of the bed and shoos off Candy. "You really got yourself with that _thing_ you made," she chuckles.

"Geh," I whine.

"There was a blue-haired lady who dropped you off and said the cast on your face could correct and heal you by tomorrow, amazing stuff, isn't it?" she says. I never noticed the cast until now. It goes from my neck and covers my mouth, I feel around it carefully. _Maybe I won't swing rocks around on ropes anymore._

"Iz sore," I say, stifled by the cast.

"Well she said she got some Morphling in you, enough to last until tomorrow. I can imagine you were happy with that," she jokes. Only my family and her even know my brother Mica existed. I trust her. I guess the person you entrust teaching you the skills that mean life or death should be someone you're comfortable with.

"Gug," I moan. I am starting to sound like the Avox girl who I helped escape. Where is she now?

"Well, I managed to do some research. I planned on giving it to you after training yesterday, but there were some obvious complications we both are aware of," she eyes my face. Yesterday? I'm going to miss a day and a half of training? I must have been asleep all morning and afternoon! I begin to fret until I remember I had four extra months of combat training. "So I have a list of the tributes and their district, a few tactics we should review, and some other crucial information," she says, shaking a stack of papers. "Relax and just listen." she lays down on the bed and begins to read:

 _Margot and N/A: District 1_

 _Vigor and Diana: District 2_

 _Wattson and Gamma: District 3_

 _Cowrie and Misty: District 4_

 _Quincy and Maitland: District 5_

 _Otto and Detrai: District 6_

 _Sequoia and Marie: District 7_

 _Glove and Lacy: District 8_

 _Miller and Maizey: District 9_

 _Butch and Campbell: District 10_

 _Simmon and Clementine: District 11_

 _Rowan and Isabella: District 12_

 _There once was a place called North America. But droughts, fires, hurricanes, tornadoes, and encroaching seas took their toll. Brutal wars broke out as people fought for the few remaining resources. The earth was scarred and desolate; the people, terrified and hopeless._

 _But out of the ashes rose Panem; a nation made of a great Capitol ringed by 13 districts which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens for many generations._

 _Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. The shining light of our nation was clouded by war. Terrible war._

 _The 13 districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Their revolt left the country in tatters. Motherless children filled the streets. The land torn asunder._

 _After a long struggle in which many died, there came a hard-won peace. Twelve districts were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. When the traitors were at last suppressed, we swore we would never allow such treason. Ever again!_

 _Thus the Treaty of Treason was written and signed, providing us with new laws to live by, laws that would guarantee peace._

 _As a yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never happen again, it was decreed that on the same day each year the districts must offer up as tributes one courageous young man and woman to fight in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice: The Hunger Games._

 _The twenty-four tributes are sent to an outdoor arena where they struggle to overcome both man and nature and triumph over the odds._

 _Each year, the lone victor serves as a reminder of the Capitol's generosity and forgiveness._

 _This season is a time for repentance and a time for thanks._

 _This is how we remember our past._

 _This is how we safeguard our future._

She ends with a flourish and I applaud bitterly. It's the same speech President Snow spoke at the Tribute Parade.

"Do you know anything about any of them?" she asks.

"Ya, I made an alianthe wif the kidz from Four and Two,"

"Already?"

"Ya, they call demselfs da wolf pack,"

"Are you sure you trust them?"

"Dey truft me, and dey can teach me valable skills, too,"

"Trust them… with your life?"

"Yef,"

She looks at me concerned. "Okay then. Who else do you know?"

"Maitland is strong and is an archer," I am adjusting slowly to talking behind the cast, "She looks merthiless. And, uh, Marie can throw axes and lookth scary. The boy from Eight is really sad all of the time. Uh, the boyth from Twelve and Eleven are pretty old and look tough, but starved. Oh, and the guy from Seven is really tall and olive-skinned, I dhink," It is beginning to show the amount of impact the stone had on my skull. "Clementine is barely a teenager, and, oh, the boy from Five, um, Quincy looks pretty smart," I recall.

"Do you want anyone else on your team?" she asks.

"Five is a crowd,"

"Okay, and what have you learned so far?"

"A lot of new sword stuff, like how to keep balance better and where to target, and uh, knots,"

"I already taught you that,"

"Well, I am learning more," I try to itch my neck behind my cast to no avail.

She keeps reading, this time a different sheet named "Basics of Survival" which I swear I won't need to hear, but I soon realize that simulation Hunger Games is a lot more different than real Hunger Games. She reminds me to be the feisty, dangerous girl I am at the interview and at the private sessions, too. I almost fall asleep by the end and she shakes me up. After the second time she just agrees to let me sleep until I have to eat dinner.

"I'll be back in an hour or two, but then you need to eat up. 'Gain some fat, it will keep you energized for days,' page three paragraph two of the survival manual," she jokes.

My eyes seem to weigh so much they push my face deeper into my cast, but my brain stays alert. Who's wouldn't when they were days from possible death?

I worry about the Avox girl, and my parents, and my life. This seems to exhaust me enough to finally send me to sleep.

Zenaveve comes in quietly and wakes me up to eat some lamb stew from 10 and spaghetti from 9. I eat slowly through my cast as she watches me mindfully until I finish and fall asleep for the night. Somehow my body never seems to get enough sleep. I want to recite and review what will keep me alive in the arena, but Zenaveve says my jaw will heal much faster if I sleep.

"Don't think I want you away, I just hope you can get to work tomorrow," she swears. I hope she is right.


	15. Chapter 15

_4 days until the Games_

I wake up, damp and hot, feeling like I slept in a crate. My face is sore, but it doesn't seem to hurt. I mumble and moan until Candy finds me in my room.

"Ooh, you don't look so good…" she says woefully, "Zenaveve?"

She shuffles into my room. How bad could I look?

"Oh, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Zenaveve says, "You just look disheveled," She steps over and grabs my arm, "We're gonna stand up and you can eat breakfast. I'll get the nurse to take off that cast, okay?"

"Sure,"

She tells me what to do and she pulls up on me, lifting me from the bed. My muscles ache and I feel like dozens of wounds just opened in my skin.

"She smells!" Candy exclaims as she walks with us to the breakfast table.

"Shut up," I murmur.

"Hey, don't be a meanie! Without me you would never have even figured out _how_ to use that shower!"

"Whatever," Zenaveve holds my arm around her shoulders and she slowly sits me down at the table. I groggily make myself breakfast. The fluffy butter reminds me of Mayor Maynot's hair, and the bubble tea reminds me of Platina Hellensarch. It's strange how such unrelated things can evoke memories so strong, so scary.

"How do you use this thing?" Zenaveve asks Candy. She pokes at a strange control panel on the wall.

"It's a phone, silly!"

Minutes later the nurse arrives at our floor. Her hair, instead of a ball, is curled in a fashion much like Candy's when we first met her.

"This won't hurt a bit," she promises, holding up a serrated blade. I brace for impact, but after a swift slice, she cuts clean the cast from my face.

"Marvelous! Look what it's done! Her face is even better than before!" she celebrates. Candy almost squeals to be with someone who speaks in her accented and odd language.

"Is it really?" I feel my jaw and neck. Not a scratch, not a bruise, not a bump. "Wow!"

"This is great! So she can get back to training today?" Zenaveve asks the nurse.

"Sure can, but don't do anything stupid!" the nurse laughs. Candy is awfully giggly with this lady.

She waves goodbye and leaves. Once I finish breakfast, Candy reminds me how to operate the intricate shower and Zenaveve brushes my hair afterward.

"Training starts at ten, so only a few minutes, let's get down there. Put on your uniform," she says. I slip on the fitted unitard. Mine is in navy and tangerine, District One colors. I noticed Diana and Vigor's were evergreen and gold, and Misty and Fins were sky-blue and crimson.

On the short way down the elevator I realize that the others may think differently of me, that I'm clumsy and not to be worried of. I hope I don't have to reprove myself to the wolf pack and intimidate the others again.

The elevator fluently slows to a stop and it opens to the entrance room that also doubles as the lunchroom. All eyes are on me. I'm seconds late, but late enough to be last.

"See you tonight," Zenaveve says.

"Bye," I say and awkwardly step off the elevator and sit down at the bench next to Misty. The elevator closes and shoots back upward.

"Now that everyone is here," Septimus begins, "We can start training. Lunch is at noon, and you know the drill, so get on it," he claps his hands and shoos us off to the gymnasium.

The five of us group together silently until Cowrie speaks.

"Dude, what happened yesterday?"

"She hit herself in the face with a rock, yes?" Vigor says, making it sound foolish.

"On accident," I fill, "I made a weapon and I was practicing attacking when it randomly swung at my face,"

"You missed a whole day, yes," Diana says.

"How unfortunate," I say.

"Y'know," Diana starts, leading us to the knife throwing station, "It's never good to have a clumsy person to count your life on while you sleep in an arena of booby-traps and murderers,"

"I'm not clumsy, I just miscalculated the swing of the rock,"

"Yeah, well, next time don't 'miscalculate the swing' of someone's knife when they try to kill you, yes?" she snaps.

"I can show you, I am not clumsy," I promise with a sullen face.

"Then do it," Misty says. I knew they would think differently of me.

"I will. I promise you can count on me to be a fighter, a thinker, and a good addition to your pack, just watch,"

"Show us something new, we have already seen your sword fighting," Vigor says. I feel targeted, ambushed.

I stutter my movement for a second. The swoosh of the knife in Diana's fingers, the tap of Vigor's hand, the bounce of Misty's posture, they all are waiting. _What I am I second best at?_ I ask myself, tracing the talisman on my neck. I am a decent knife thrower, but Diana is better. I can't impress them with my flora knowledge because Vigor is much better than me. Weightlifting, no. Spear throwing, no.

They can see my worry, but I walk over to the archery station. I can do this well, probably. I learned the basics back at the academy with that Pearlette woman.

Maitland from Five never leaves this station, and she is glaring at me as I pick up a slick, fine bow. I can feel twelve eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move. I pick an arrow from a rack and get into stance, grip the bow, fit in the arrow, draw, adjust my fingers, and focus in on the targets. Dummies set on tracks move in irregular directions, not to be predicted. They circle and swerve in front of me and I panic. I set down the bow and try to identify their movement.

The wolf pack and Maitland are very confused and impatient.

The two in the front slide from left to right, and then swap places. The two in the back seem to move in a zigzag pattern. I pick up a quiver, put it around my shoulder, and put three more arrows in. I can impress them if I hit all four.

I reset my bow, aiming strong. My vision narrows on the first one and I release the string. _Thunk!_ The arrow shoots into its stomach. I quickly grab and set another arrow, then draw and release at the next one. _Thunk!_ It pierces its shoulder. Another arrow goes into the back one's heart, and the last arrow goes right into the final dummy's thigh. All in ten seconds. Maitland looks horribly offended I just did something remotely comparable to her skill.

I turn around, smile, and bow in front of the wolf pack. They are wowed at my archery, and I seem to have discovered a new talent.

"Nice job, One," Vigor pats my back when I return to them. I try not to blush. My hands sweat and my face feels red of pride.

"With a bow, you could pick off someone before they even were a threat!" Misty smiles.

"Did I prove myself, yet again?" I smile.

"Indeed you did," Vigor laughs.

"Dude, can you teach me?" Cowrie says.

"It's all in the eye," I wink.

For the rest of the day I work on fire-starting, but spend most of my time watching the rest of our alliance do what they do best. Even teach me a thing or two.

Diana throws better than I could ever dream to. Her hands seem to know where to aim better than her brain. She can hit four dummies in half the time I could with a bow, but longer than I could with a sword. I used to think I was good at knife throwing after my dumb-luck the morning of the reaping, but Diana soon proves I can throw as well as the girl from 3, who has never picked up a weapon all week.

Vigor helps me with flora identification, fire-starting, and animal skinning.

"These skills are ten times more useful than any others, yes," he tells me, and after a while I begin to agree. A scary girl with a sword is nothing if she freezes to death or hasn't eaten in weeks.

I spend almost no time actually training with Cowrie, but instead we just talk about life in 4. Cowrie's tan skin and bright hair display the lifestyle in 4. He tells me about how Misty came from a wealthy fishing family, what his job was like back home, and his father.

"He's definitely a teacher, not a lover," he says. He sounds like a tough-love kind of guy who keeps pride in his small packaging and distributing business.

Misty shows me spear throwing after lunch, but I have no hope of learning how to do it. I best let her have her own skill, and besides, after you throw a spear it's gone. Most of what she knows is from picking off fish from her sunny dock back in 4, and she is a lot friendlier than I used to believe. Her short, rough hair yet soft voice prove to me she doesn't want to be here, but is fully capable of doing well.

At the end of the day I am very happy with what I learned for both myself and about my team. The next day Misty teaches me how to swim.

"You can't swim?" she asks in disbelief.

"Ha, no I can't. There was nowhere to swim in One, and by law we can't wear bathing suits in public places," I feel my neck.

"You live in a whole different world…"

I learned how to swim in case we get an arena with what we call "A swimmer" where the starting platforms are surrounded by water, whether it be warm or frigid. A few years back I watched a game like that, and both kids from Eight drowned. I can't let that be me.

I remember to gather information, eat well, and form tight bonds with my teammates. Throughout this I observe the other tributes. The kids from 3, Wattson and Gamma, are silent but resourceful geniuses.

From 5, Quincy and Maitland never even talk to one another. The boy watches us a lot, but spends his hours at the flora identification and remedies. Maitland, like always, has a bow in her hand. I guess if she weighs too much to run fast so a bow suits her well.

Both from 6 like the kids from 3, and the two from seven look like good teammates, even though the girl looks a lot more aggressive. Sequoia, tall and tanned, tries to be brotherly and Marie with survival skills, but she likes to throw her axes. I wonder where in 7 she could have learned to _throw_ them. Being the lumber district, all I would expect from them is to know how to chop wood, maybe limbs.

The kids from 8, 9, and 10 look pretty mediocre. I expect an average of six on their training scores after the private sessions tomorrow. The boy from 8, Glove, will probably cry at his sessions, but the girls from 8 and 10 look pretty tough. Lacy, from 8, is a well-balanced girl but is stronger with craftiness and the girl from 10 almost steals my show by being a swordsman. Well, she doesn't use swords, instead she uses knives. Butcher knives. Campbell can swing as well as a swordsman, but tends to use shorter blades; ones I am not fond of.

From 11, Simmon and Clementine. Simmon reminds me of Sequoia, but Clementine is sure to die at the bloodbath or starve days later. She is brittle and small, and can only run quickly, something I wish I was good at too.

Then there's Rowan and the girl I cannot recall from 12. Both equally bland-featured and almost as scared as Glove, they stick together and sometimes try to use knives, which I can't say they're bad at.

Overall, this pool of tributes averages at the age of 16, which is much higher than normal. Misty must be 17, and Cowrie must be close to that, too. Diana and Vigor, the twins they seem to be, look around my age, 15. I hate to see Clementine and Lacy so young, and I wonder if I will be the one to kill them.

In our last minutes before talking to each other next in the arena, I ask the wolf pack what they plan on doing for the private sessions tomorrow.

"I'm obviously doing knife-throwing, but that chick from Eight's got a thing for it, too. And she's pretty good, yes?" Diana complains. _Lacy_.

"Yeah! And there is this guy, from, uh, Ten who can haul a thing or two," Cowrie shouts. He must be talking about Butch.

"Luckily, and not surprisingly, no one even visited the spear station, so I never had to share," Misty shrugs.

"I kinda learned everything I could, even if I was bad at it, including: Knife throwing, spear throwing, animal skinning, snare setting, camouflage, remedies, _and_ … I don't know, that's it," I say, rubbing my jaw.

"Yeah, well, at least you guys can attack stuff, yes? All I did was make some stuff from other stuff, like this water canteen," He says, holding up an intricately woven set of leaves and grass with not a single hole.

"How much does it hold?" Misty asks.

"Maybe… ten ounces?"

"So… good for a few hours. Which is really incredible since you made it yourself, you can be a great asset to our balanced team," she smiles. Misty doesn't talk to Vigor much.

Septimus dismisses us district at a time to the elevators back to our floor. I go last, but the rides get shorter each time. I heard the kids from 12 get a penthouse and a roof deck.

When I return multiple Avoxes are moving around the table, setting it. The usual crowd of Candy, Zenaveve, Romeo, Galahad, and Ciaran are sitting down, getting plates served to them like royalty. The silence and hustle of the Avoxes almost screams to me the pain they feel every day, the pain I succumbed to before I helped out that brown-haired Avox girl.

I sit down next to Romeo, at the end of the table.

"I want to thank you again for such a beautiful dress at the parade, I heard it really won their hearts," I smile at Romeo. The Avoxes have all left except for one and everybody is eating now.

"It's my job, besides, I want you to do well. _And_ it got my fashion business very popular. I have something big planned for your interview with Caesar Flickerman, too!"

"Candy and I watched you on TV back here, and you looked gorgeous on that chariot. The ivory horse and paper-white chariot really emphasized your peacock dress," Zenaveve comments.

"Yeah! You were sooo pretty!" Candy beams, bouncing her new yellow wig.

"Thank you," I say. She may be annoying, but she is friendly and a big help around the quarters.

"Romeo, you _perfected_ her makeup," Galahad points at him.

"Yes, that ombre eyeliner was the perfect touch of fierceness," Ciaran says. His skin was dyed completely black yesterday and he looks like a void wearing an orange suit. The colors Candy, Galahad, Ciaran, and Romeo wear are always a sight. Sometimes I try to guess what they'll be wearing. I remember finding the lollipop from Candy's candy outfit a few days ago and eating it for unknown reasons.

"What are you doing at the private sessions?" Zenaveve asks. Now that she has researched all she could, she is an even better mentor.

"Definitely swords, but I discovered a new talent I forgot to tell you about yesterday,"

"Really? What is it?"

"Archery! I know, random, isn't it?"

"You seemed to like archery back at the academy," Zenaveve says.

"What academy?" Candy asks _. That woman…_

"Uh, well, back home we were friends at a gym we went to,"

"There are no gyms here in the Capitol," she blurts randomly.

"Okay… "

"And then you got in trouble and Zenaveve had to be your mentor!" she giggles. I regret telling her anything.

"You said Silver retired, ma'am," Romeo says.

"Well, you see, the thing is…" I rub my neck.

"Wait, what is she doing here then?" Ciaran asks.

"Guys, okay?" _Should I disobey Mayor Maynot and Platina Hellensarch? Would it get me in trouble? It's not like I haven't done anything else illegal since then._ "Zenaveve…" I look at her; her face is scrunched up and sorrowful. "Zenaveve was my trainer back in the Dominion of District 1. I was training for the Games. That's why I volunteered. Well, not really. I wanted to just volunteer, but I got caught and I was punished. I had to choose to be," I look over at the single Avox in the corner, "Avoxed, or sent to the Games with conditions. Getting extra time on the platform, not getting sponsors, and probably merciless booby-traps," I explain, excluding the Grandpa Maco situation.

"Dang," Romeo frowns.

"Whatever happens, you can still win," my prep duo promises.

"Yeah, it's still gonna be fine!" Candy says.

"Thanks, I was scared to tell you, but I guess it's best you know," I say.

"We're going to have to adjust to your conditions, though," Zenaveve says, "We can discuss it tomorrow,"

I am glad they took my explanation incredibly well, but in the Capitol drama is a normal part of their lives, so it must not be new. I make them swear to not tell anyone, and then we say goodbye. The Avoxes clear the dinner table and I go straight to bed because Zenaveve has a strict schedule for sleep. I can only imagine the amount of effort Zenaveve will put into getting me straightened out for the sessions tomorrow. A high score gets you liked, betted on, and sponsored. Too bad no one can send me anything in the arena.


	16. Chapter 16

_Two days until the Games_

"So, I kinda regret telling them exactly what my weaknesses are…" I say to Zenaveve as she knots my hair into a controlled braid.

"Yeah, well, it was pretty dumb. Just don't tell them what you can't do and prove what you _can_ do. Remember, if they decide they don't want you out there they can kill you," she says, finalizing the braid with a tight band.

"They can't kill me," I rub my jaw, "Besides, if anything _I_ will be leaving _them_. I have acquired as much of their own skills as I could," I stray off.

"They very well can kill you," she stands up and stands in front of me, checking to see if I look sharp enough for the sessions, "But you can make it harder for them,"

Zenaveve sends me down to the Training Gym by myself since I told her it was awkward last time. Also, I heard some kid from 11 say an awfully rude comment about her skin color.

Like usual, the benches are lined with the tributes. I spot Marie from 7 because I told Zenaveve about her and how I wanted to look as angry as her. I sit down beside Vigor and we wait for the rest of the tributes to arrive. When they do, Septimus orders us by district.

"You will be individually dismissed to the Training Gym. The Gamemakers and other nobles will be high in the balcony you may have noticed previously unoccupied. All eyes will be on you, judging your skills, athleticism, and intellect, thus conceiving a number from one to twelve. This number signifies the promise of the tribute. The mark is not a guarantee of which person will win. It's only an indication of the potential a tribute showed in training. Often, because of the variables in the actual arena, high-scoring tributes go 105 down almost immediately," he explains and then leaves the room. I wait patiently, closest to the door with Vigor second in line.

Then, a woman's voice comes from overhead. "Margot Lavish, District One, please report to the Training Gym,"

I buff my chest, stand tall, and pull my braid behind my back. The glassy doors to the gymnasium open in front of me and I step in. The Training Gym is a silent, deserted chasm of stale air with no one in it. I look up to a long balcony that stretches across one huge wall, perched high up almost by the ceiling. Most of the glittery people are watching me like hawks, scrutinizing my every move. I take a deep breath and head for the swords.

 _Just take the hook sword, do what you do best, and don't screw up._

I grip tightly onto the sword and face upon six dummies that are meant for the archery station, but seem like a better challenge. I begin to pivot, swing, and leap, snatching and slicing the dummies before they get close. One slash. A stab. A sharp hook and a slice. Poke in the chest. For a grand finale I hold the sword with both hands and spike the sword into the last dummy's body. I roar aggressively, almost beast-like. _Anything to scare them works, right?_

I glance at the balcony, and many of the nobles seem satisfied, exchanging looks of consideration, while others completely ignore me. I forget the others and just put down my sword and pick up a bow from a rack since I am already at the archery station.

I check the clock. I have twelve minutes to show them everything, so I plan on doing the flora identification next, then start a fire, and do some swimming laps if I have time at the end.

A new horde of dummies slide into the station in front of me. Bow in hand and quiver slipped on, fully loaded, I draw my bow. _Don't miss, focus, breathe, and remember what you've learned_. I send an arrow straight into a shaking dummy's neck and resist a smile. Without checking for approval, I quickly take other arrow, draw, and let it fly. It lodges into its knee. My next arrow whizzes by the erratically sliding dummy. Again, I shoot one in the neck. Then one in the stomach. And again in the stomach for my final shot.

My arms feel like noodles and my shoulders are strained from all of the pulling. I see the nobles and Gamemakers writing notes, but many are conversing around a large table adorned with food even more so than ours back on floor one.

Over at the plant recognition screen, I hit start and an array of leaves, flowers, and trees appear. I sort them quickly by edibility. After 30 seconds I distinguish twenty types of flora and get a 70 percent mark. Good enough.

Next, in the forest pocket, I form a pyramid of flammable grasses and twigs. On a separate log I shuffle a stick as fast as I can and with great force into the bark. Since I know which types of wood ignite the easiest, it begins to smoke only seconds later. All is well so far. I place a piece of grass in the heated log and it catches fire. I drop it into the pyramid and with a slow progression it grows into a hot, useful fire.

I keep looking at the Gamemakers for approval, and they seem impressed. The clock says I have three minutes left, so I head for the pool in the far back. My unitard dries very quickly, and is waterproof, so I dive right in. My talisman weighs down my neck like an anchor as I hold my breath and remember what Misty taught me. Arms in front, one after another. Legs push back and never stop. Breathe. The water wants to pull me down, but I keep swimming. I reach the end and grab the wall, take a breath, and push off into the other direction. I may be going only a fraction of the speed Misty could go, but I only learned yesterday. I hope I get extra points for my wide set of skills.

After three laps I pull out of the water, squeeze out my hair, and shake off my body. I have thirty seconds left. I can't do anything with that time, but I jog to the center of the gym. I bend onto the ground and push my legs up, doing a handstand out of stark impulsiveness. I can feel my face turn red, and when a loud buzzer goes off, and I am lead by Septimus to a hidden elevator in the back of the gym.

"I'm not supposed to say anything, but you did really well," he whispers as he presses the button for the elevator.

"Thanks,"

The door opens and I step in, careful not to say anything more to Septimus as he disappears behind the doors. I don't know where I'm headed, but I am moving upward. I am happy with how I managed my time and how I showed myself to the Gamemakers and nobles, but I regret never learning how to climb a tree. Back in One, there were never many trees to climb. They were all replaced with houses and buildings. I seemed to have also forgotten how to tie many knots, and I blame it on that cursed Morphling that crazy woman injected into me.

With a ding the door opens and I see Candy smiling, only inches from the elevator. Behind her is the lobby of the training center.

"Hiya! We're gonna do a little paparazzi thingy, okay?" she swings her arms to the large window of a wall and outside are fanatic Capitol citizens. They look like a crowd of rainbowfish out of water.

"What exactly does that require?" I ask, rubbing my jaw. Some of the citizens see me step out of the elevator and start screaming in excitement. Not a sound can be heard from the other side.

"Actually, they're not allowed to come in the Training Center, but they can take pictures and holler all they want," she explains, twirling her waist in a circle as her pink tutu bounces. "So you just kind of walk down the lobby. Look sassy, let them take pictures! When you're done just come with me to the other elevator so we can get back to our floor, kay?"

"Um, alright,"

I don't seem dressed appropriately for a paparazzi appearance, but I start to strut down the lobby. I once thought the mean girl attitude would come easy, but it has proved to be extremely awkward for me.

Crazed screams and endless camera flashes shine into the golden lobby. I smile, pose, and cat-walk in front of the long windows. They love it. After all, these are the same people who ate up my parade debut.

After about an eternity of five minutes, I ask Candy if we can go before I have a seizure from all of the colors and lights. She blows a kiss to the window, smacks her tutu, and escorts me to the elevator by her side. She tried to hold hands with me as we walked in but her short stature meant her hands were down to my knees.

Back on floor one, Zenaveve and Candy began grilling me the moment I walk in. I am surprised to see Candy worried about my performance when I remember that she is my escort and she spends all day with Zenaveve. They seem to be of one mind, determined to hear every second of what I did at the session. Once I think it's over, Zenaveve pulls out another booklet with even more skills I should memorize. I remind myself they may come in handy before I complain.

I eat lunch with them two and Candy slowly unwraps. She tells me about what life is like on the roads of the Capitol. Apparently barely anyone has jobs and money just circulates as if it were a right. Zenaveve and I share a little about 1, but she seems unfamiliar with our lifestyles. She sometimes even comments on our "District One accents," claiming that we pronounce our r's too much and all of our vowels are very enunciated. Vigor and Diana often end their sentences with "Yes?" and Misty and especially Cowrie use some relaxed and contracted diction while speaking. It never occurred to me the effects of living in complete separation from each district could have on the culture of Panem.

Zenaveve explains her plan and what she asked around about with my conditions. In the Games, she says that the land-mines around my platform at the start will be charged for the extra ten seconds I will spend on them. She tells me to use this time to observe my surroundings and determine whether or not I should go to the Cornucopia.

"Our pack already decided we were all meeting there," I say.

"So? What if the Cornucopia is across a pool of lava, or inside a maze?"

"Then we may not all meet up…"

"Exactly," she eyes me, "No one knows you're in trouble, right?"

"No,"

"Well they also don't know you get those extra seconds, but if they figure it out they could technically shoot or throw something at you if they stand far enough away from your platform,"

"What if someone runs near my platform?" I ask.

"Brace for impact, and blood,"

"Gee, okay…" I rub my neck.

"And as for the sponsor thing, you will not receive any sponsors ever unless they are directed to your allies and are meant for you, or your whole team,"

"So I can still kinda get sponsor gifts?"

"Yes, just not directly,"

"Remember the boy from One about five years ago?" she asks.

"Um… Oh, yeah,"

"You can probably still do what he did. They may fall for it," she shrugs. Some years ago, a brainy boy from One won when he used a sponsor container with its parachute and put inside it nightlock berries, the infamous killer of the Games that takes the lives of the desperately hungry. He floated the container to the final opponent and he opened it and ate the berries, never worried that a sponsor would try to kill him. It was a viral move on his part that got him plenty of interview questions after The Hunger Games.

"Maybe I could,"

"It never hurts to try, just don't get found. You know what nightlocks look like, right?"

"Small berries that look like blueberries," I answer.

"I hope you know the vital difference…" she stares at me with her dark brown eyes.

"Of course," I lie.

"Good. This concludes our conversation. You may return to whatever you wish to fill the rest of your days with," she bows.

So I do. I nap, play with the futuristic devices, and get sucked into the void of a closet I have. Once I even accidentally order a cake from the meal dispenser, but Candy does me the favor of devouring it.

Dinner is served by the same Avoxes as the previous nights, and only Galahad and Ciaran join for dinner, claiming that Romeo is busy with my outfit for the interviews tomorrow. Candy has already started filling me with scripts of what to say in front of the whole country.

At midnight, the TV blares the Panem anthem. All five of us sit around the living space on luxuriously modern couches. Tonight, the scores are televised to all of Panem. Each tribute's photo is shown with his or her district, score, and odds of winning.

First up is District 12. Rowan with six and Isabella with five. Simmon gets seven and clementine has four. Butch gets seven and Campbell gets nine. Miller has six and Maizey with four. Glove gets three and Lacy gets seven. Sequoia gets eight and Marie gets nine. Otto gets six and so does Detrai. Quincy gets seven and Maitland with ten. Campbell, Sequoia, Marie, and Maitland's numbers worry me. My fists clench in worry as each number appears. Cowrie gets eight and Misty has nine. Wattson and Gamma get a five. Vigor… seven. Diana… nine. My alliance is looking good. My picture appears on the screen. It's a picture they must have taken during my paparazzi earlier today. The five of us exchange looks of excitement and fear.

Ten.

A loud cheer erupts and I get plenty of pats and hugs. The TV shuts off with a flourish. I smile and look around me.

"Incredible!" Candy claps.

"Fan-tastic!" Ciaran beams.

"I've done you well, Margot," Zenaveve smiles as she gives me a chocolate truffle.

My number amazes me. I now have bets on me. I am now part of the high-scoring group that gets the love from the Capitolians. It's a shame they can't show that love through sponsor gifts. _Ten._

After dessert, one very polar from the one back home in 1, Zenaveve gives me a hug and I go to my quarters for sleep.

I listen in the bathroom vents for any noise every night. Maybe I will hear that Avox girl, returning back after regretting her decisions, fully aware of the punishments she will face. Maybe I will hear her breathe.

Reciting the banal passages Candy made me memorize for the interviews, I drift into an uninterrupted sleep. I know it will be my last restful one for a while.


	17. Chapter 17

_One day until the Games_

Having watched the tribute interviews all my life, I know there's truth to what she's saying. If you appeal to the crowd, either by being humorous or brutal or eccentric, you gain favor. Candy has me dressed in "practice heels" and a "practice dress" even though I can move well with both of them on. She swears that if I fall onstage she will hit me in the face with one of the gumdrops in her wig.

I practice showing pride by sitting tall and smiling, which come naturally easily, just not when you're speaking for a city of people who want your murdered by 22 other children. After hours of extensive "show training," Candy sends me off to Zenaveve to discuss the content of my interview, how to be sharp and prissy.

She does well at making it the least painful it has to be to have words shoved in your mouth for you, but it is no fun nevertheless. Finally, thanks to four hours of practice, I am deemed ready for my interviews… verbally. Then it is time to be dismissed to my prep duo for another set of waxing, washing, and honing.

I have to experience an even more painful waxing because never in the six long days I have been here have I found a razor in that outrageous shower. My hair is conditioned until it is like silk, malleable and ready for styling. My eyebrow are "fleeked" by "Mr. Fleekie" once again, and they send me off to the next and final stage of my endless preparation process, Romeo.

"I heard you worked on it until the last day, so it better be good," I joke as Romeo checks the work the prep duo did.

"I know the audience will like it, but if you like it just means you'll wear it better, not if you get to choose if you wear it," he smiles. He pulls from a closet in the prep room his masterpiece. The blood-red sparkle of the dress catches my eyes as he carries it to me. When he holds it up, I see the burgundy dress almost drip with color. A curtain of shades deepens in color as it grows higher to my torso where a large, sparkly heart is over my chest. Valentine's day is all I can think.

"Oh my! It's beautiful!" I smile. I almost hug him before I remember I am naked.

"Thank you. Even the simplest dresses require extreme calculation," He bows. With a struggle of effort to slip on the dress, I finally get it on and stand in the mirror. He adds red high-heels to my feet and lets my hair flow naturally. In the mirror I look like a queen, drenched in the blood of her enemies, which could be a totally plausible inspiration given the Games I am about to enter. Romeo has even sprayed my talisman with a red glitter.

"You've saved me. Without your masterful dresses I may have never even gotten a name in the Capitol, but now I am 'the solo girl from One'"

"I love what I do, and I love to see you shine. You've got this,"

I hate being first for all of our appearances.

With the District One gang and me, we gather in a hallway somewhere between the lobby and the City Circle. Candy says there has been a stage erected in front of the Training Center that is in front of the main street of the Capitol. I can hear Caesar Flickerman pumping up the crowd ahead; we must be behind the stage.

Candy, Zenaveve, Ciaran, and Galahad go off to join the audience in the sea of seats to watch the show. They leave Romeo and I.

"Behind here should be the backstage. The other tributes are lined up, dressed like you, and ready to show. Get first in line and you will hear Caesar Flickerman announce your name. That's when you know to step onto the stage. Chin up, smile big, voice bigger. Rock that dress, too," he pats my shoulder.

"Okay," I huff.

He turns the knob and I see the curtains of the backstage. I walk in. To my left are the few tributes lined up in order of appearance. I see Wattson and Gamma, then a few from 6 and 7, then the kids from 12. I silently get in the front of the line and stand there. I try to show off my dress, but like always, the girl from 7 seems to blow me away with an evergreen pencil dress that looks like a string of ivy. Slowly, more tributes join the line as I watch Caesar Flickerman shouting to the audience. His strawberry of a hair shape is dyed mint green and his tuxedo is colored the same. His awfully tanned skin seems to reflect the colorful stage lights and the sheen from the silvery chairs behind him. One for him and one for the tribute of question.

I'm not quite ready to speak in front of all of Panem, and especially not my family. I hope they understand I have not become a cocky idiot.

Once the last two from 10 join the line, I see Caesar touch his finger to his ear as if he were receiving an auditory message.

Each interview only lasts three minutes. Then a buzzer goes off and the next tribute is up. I'll say this for Caesar, he really does his best to make the tributes shine. He's friendly, tries to set the nervous ones at ease, laughs at lame jokes, and can turn a weak response into a memorable one by the way he reacts.

"Are you ready?" he throws his arms into the air, "To meet the tributes of the 60th Hunnnger Gaaames?"

A deafening roar comes from the crowd. I can't see them from back here, but I imagine they are even brighter than the crowd from yesterday, enlightening the City Circle brighter than noon despite dusk falling in.

"Let's see if she's still the dazzling damsel she was at the Parade! Welcome, Margot Lavish!" he announces.

I pat my dress and strut onto stage. They give me a hearty welcome. I can barely make out the faces of the dapper audience as the stage lights flash in my eyes. The smell of plastic and cotton wafts from the artificial prosthetics and makeup of the spectators. Dressed in colors that match the rainbow of a stage, hands clap with both excitement and bloodthirstiness. Their relentless applause holds on for almost thirty seconds until Caesar's flapping hands silence them. He holds my hand as we sit in the silvery thrones.

"Hello, Margot!" His teeth are blindingly white.

"Hello!" I smile at the crowd. Most eyes are on my dress.

"That's a lovely dress you have there! It's incredibly _bloody_!" he laughs hysterically. The audience finds this funny.

I notice Romeo in the front row, giving me wink.

"Yes, Caesar, it is!" I beam.

"You know, Margot," He checks the audience, "You're the first person to ever veto the Decennial Pardon, did you know that?" he asks. I feel the millions of eyes nationwide watching me.

"I _did_ know that," I lie, tracing the engraved throne.

"Well, why did you do it? Give us some meat to chew on!" He guffaws.

"My grandfather… he needed a whole new pair of legs. To pay for the surgery I vowed to volunteer for the Games. When One was pardoned, I made sure I could still win. That's why I'm here, to win," I snicker.

"I'm sure we all hope you do, isn't that right?" he asks the audience. "And, what is your forte in the Training Center?"

"Caesar, my favorite weapon to kill with is the sword. With a blade I am ferocious and deadly. What do you think?"

"I think you seem like a strong competitor!" He laughs and the crowd cheers. "In the Capitol people are calling you the dazzling damsel. Do you think this is an appropriate name?"

"It's close. _Deadly_ duchess is the best fit," I trickle my finger down my dress like a blood drop. It becomes easier and easier to keep the conversation flowing.

"Ohoho!" He smiles. "What about that ten you scored during the private sessions? Wasn't that quite the news?"

"I was excited, but not surprised. I have many other skills I can utilize in the arena the Gamemakers must have liked to see," I smile. Then I digress the topic, "You know, the Capitol is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The people here are incredibly attractive and the skyline is heavenly," I bootlick.

Caesar holds his hand to his chest. "I'm flattered! Aren't you all?" He asks the crowd. The sun is beyond the horizon but the spotlights across the entire street and stage continue to blind me.

The buzzer sounds and I stand up next to Caesar, showing off my dress one more time.

"District One, Margot Lavish! Let's hear a clap for her and her stylist, Romeo Sterlingshire!"

I booming final applause waves from the crowd as I strut off the stage, smiling from ear to ear.

I stay backstage to watch the rest of the interviews. Cowrie is idiotically charming, and Misty looks unusually nervous, and Vigor and Diana are pulling the best friends act. The most interesting interviews, though, are those of the younger tributes. Quincy, Marie, and Clementine. Other than Marie, they are in a pool of overpowered masters. I sympathize their fear.

All of the tributes take a walk through the lobby, showing off their costumes to the outside audience one last time. Back on our floor, Romeo is glad to see me. Like yesterday with the scoring, they all shower me in love until I ask to take a real shower. All is going well. The last thing I need is another rock to the face, especially when there are no mystical bandages in the arena.

Tomorrow at dawn, I will be roused and prepared for the arena. The actual Games don't start until ten because so many of the Capitol residents rise late. But I must make an early start. There is no telling how far I will travel to the arena that has been prepared for this year's Games. I know Zenaveve and Candy will not be going with me. As soon as they leave here, they'll be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully madly signing up my sponsors, working out a strategy on how and when to deliver the gifts to us. Romeo, Ciaran, and Galahad will travel with us to the very spot from which we will be launched into the arena. Still final good-byes must be said here.

Before I fall asleep, I cogitate all that has been done for me. Thanks to Zenaveve I have a shot at winning. Despite Candy's odd ways, she has brought me on time to every event and showed me my way around. My prep team made me look like a flawless model, and Romeo dressed me like a royal duchess. My parents brought me to the life of a young woman I have today. My parents. I can never stop thinking about them. Nor Mica. Almost every day I find myself reminded of his kindness and guidance. Thankfully, Zenaveve has become my mentor.

I try to sleep once I conclude cinematically pondering my gratefulness, but it is to no avail. I can't help but agonize over the situation tomorrow. It could very well be the day I die. _Where will the arena be? A jungle? A desert? A portentous ruin?_ The thoughts burst like a cracking dam, flooding my mind with worry.

All week I have been worried sick, but since the day finally comes, I feel addled. _What if I do something dumb? What if the wolf pack turns on me? What if I starve, drown, or freeze?_ I can't expect this will be anything like my simulations. So far, my simulations have taught me how to kill people, not what it's like to survive.

I rise from my bed, dressed in a nightgown, and pace the floor, tracing the window that looks out onto the colorful streets. I step my feet lightly like Zenaveve taught me so that I do not wake anyone up, but I am in need of someone to speak with, to spew out all of my worries. No matter how much I worry about it, though, the inevitable of tomorrow is set in stone. This mindset finally gets me to sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

_Day of the Games_

At dawn, when the Capitol is still asleep, Candy and Romeo wake me up, get me dressed in a shift dress, and they take me to the roof. Up here, where the kids from 12 get to hang out, is a lush garden and whimsical chimes. A windy vortex from a huge aircraft that resembles the ones they monitor the districts with is hovering above the roof. Candy directs me to grab the ladder hanging down while she holds her wig tightly to her head. When I do, a pulsing current moves through my muscles, paralyzing me to it. After Candy and Romeo grab on too, the ladder moves up, raising us into the black aircraft.

When the current ceases we are inside and I see a bleak interior with seats lined along the sides. The three of us silently sit on one side with a small window that looks upon the Capitol reflecting pool. Candy's sugary perfume I smell is the most of a meal I have had yet, but I don't think I would keep down food in my state of fear right now. The three of us sit in static terror as the aircraft hums through the air at an incredible speed. Like last night, I worry frantically, but quell my fear with the reminder that I have to stay strong.

"I'm gonna win," I state.

"I sure do hope so…" Candy frowns. "You know; you are my most favoritest tribute I have had because you never made fun of my height. When people tease me for being short, it really lowers my already-small confidence. You're a sweetie," she smiles. I never considered her emotions.

"Thank you, and you're welcome," I smile back.

"Candy'll have to go to The Hunger Games Headquarters when we land. That's where Zenaveve and the others are right now," Romeo informs me, wiping his lipstick.

"The Headquarters?"

"It's where people sign up sponsors, but in your case they won't be. Once you are sent off we will all watch you from there," he explains.

"Oh,"

"And they have really good food," Candy weeps.

"Don't cry, I'm going to be fine," I say, stroking her green blouse.

"I don't wanna be a crybaby, but what if you die or something?" she stutters.

"Then," The image of my death. The execution of Mom, Dad, Zenaveve, Grandpa. " _Then_ you can cry. But it won't happen, I promise,"

"Hopefully," Candy and Romeo agree.

A man in a white coat stand in front of me, "This is your tracker, Margot. The stiller you are the more efficiently I can place it," He pulls out a syringe and stabs it into my arm, painfully. A beep comes from my arm and then he walks away. I rub it, I really don't need any more injuries right now.

A different man comes in and hands the three of us trays of food. One meat, one vegetable, on dairy product, one fruit, and one carbohydrate. Despite my past thoughts, I eat it all. It's going to be my last meal that I don't find myself.

After thirty minutes on the vibrating aircraft the windows dim, meaning we are flying near the arena. They would never let us see it before we got in.

Soon, the ladder is sent down again and we step down into a tube that leads into the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. We follow instructions to my destination, a chamber for my preparation. In the Capitol, they call it the Launch Room. Candy says her final good-byes with an obnoxious amount of tears before she leaves through an elevator that most likely leads to the Headquarters.

Everything is brand-new, I will be the first and only tribute to use this Launch Room. The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the Games. Popular destinations for Capitol residents to visit, to vacation. Go for a month, re-watch the Games, tour the catacombs, visit the sites where the deaths took place. You can even take part in reenactments.

In the sheen of the Launch Room, I can see myself reflected on the walls. I am still the hairless, unblemished doll Galahad and Ciaran made me, but I seem less glossy.

"This here's the box with your clothes," Romeo holds out a white box. I undress from my current clothes and change into the uniform clothes. Knee socks under tall archer boots, fern-colored cargo pants, a skin-tight long-sleeved shirt, and a thin, grey raincoat. "They look pretty versatile, but they all are made from materials meant to keep you cool,"

"So it's gonna be hot?" I try to breathe slowly.

"Maybe,"

"Can we cut my hair?" I ask.

"I almost forgot," Romeo says. He walks to a table with a pair of unqualified scissors. "There's nothing fancy here since we're not supposed to make any changes to you, but these'll do, ma'am" He says, opening the scissors to my hair. Soon, my waist-length hair is just above my shoulders.

In the reflective walls I touch and stare at my hair. I look much older, but the cut isn't very clean.

"This better be a good thing," I say, stroking where my hair used to be.

"I could never hurt. Remember the girl from One…" He assures me. "It's five 'till ten, wanna eat anything else?"

"No, but can I have some water?" I ask. My fingers are shivering and my face feels like it is buzzing.

"Here," He hands me a glass full of water and I down it in seconds. "Tell Zenaveve and the others I will be thanking them the moment I die,"

"The day you die is far from now. I've got a concept for your victory dress already," He smiles.

I gasp, "Really?"

He nods.

"I sure hope so. Can I tell you a secret?" I ask, tracing my collar.

"Don't, it'll get you all caught up, you'll be worried about it. I don't need to know anything," He says. I suppress the urge to tell him that Zenaveve and my family will die if I do.

Romeo holds out my small talisman. It sparkles with blues and greens just like when I first saw it. "You forgot this at the Training Center,"

I take it from him and fasten it around my neck. "They thought you could swing it around like a weapon when it was checked for advantages, but they said they had let necklaces by before so they did,"

"Thank you, I would never had remembered. My dad gave this to me, he said it was good luck," I smile.

"You don't need luck," He says. We stand in silence until a pleasant female voice announces it's time to prepare for launch. My mind starts chugging like an angry train again.

I step into a glass, cylindrical chute that is my way into the arena.

"Remember your training. Don't go to the Cornucopia if you think it is unsafe. And whatever you do, do not go early," He says, holding my hand.

"Got it,"

The chute closes in front of me slowly, forever locking me away from the world. I stare at Romeo in fright until the platform under me begins to rise. He holds up three of his finger together and kisses them in the last moment I see him. It must be a Capitol sign of respect.

Fifteen seconds of darkness as I raise up, watching the hold of brightness above me grow larger. The chute pushes me into the dry, windy air above. The blinding sun shines all over my face as a booming voice comes reverberating from the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixtieth Hunger Games begin!"


	19. Chapter 19

_In the arena: Day One_

Sixty seconds. That's how long we're required to stand on our metal circles before the sound of a gong releases us. Not me. I have to stand for seventy.

My eyes adjust and I see the tributes around me in a semicircle spanning over 100 feet. A dusty wind hits my face when I see what is in front of us all. A ravine. Where is the Cornucopia?

I look as hard as I can in the bright light into the deep chasm that seems to split the entire arena. I see the Cornucopia, a giant golden horn shaped like a cone with a curved tail, the mouth of which is at least twenty feet high, spilling over with the things that will give us life here in the arena. Food, containers of water, weapons, medicine, garments, fire starters. Strewn around the Cornucopia are other supplies, their value decreasing the farther they are from the horn. The rocky ravine has a clear trail down, but it is a gravelly and unstable one. I can't expect many tributes to attempt to go down due to the danger of it. On the other side of the ravine is a huge lake that has a waterfall pouring into it, starting a raging river that carves the trench. Behind me is a dense forest with trees that expand from the ground like sprinklers and only have leaves at the top.

The sun begins to heat my unzipped jacket up, and the wind easily blows through my shirt. I look at the large numbers projected on the dome around the arena. Thirty-five seconds.

About three yards away stands Rowan from 12 on my left, and on my right is Glove, the sad boy from 8. His shaggy brown hair is covering his eyes.

I can see it in his eyes. The same sad face I always saw is sadder than ever. He stands at the edge of his platform. His eyes tighten and he throws his arms back. He jumps.

A thunderous explosion goes off, sending chunks of his body in the air and I feel dirt and blood splatter on my jacket and my face. I hold up my arms and steady my legs. A cloud of dust and dirt circles the air and I hear a cannon go off. The cannon goes off every time someone dies. My ears ring. The platform sways under my feet and my head goes light. The blood drips down my face and into my mouth with an irony taste before I can spit it out.

An aircraft emerges from the sky and sends a large claw down, picking up the largest chunk of his body. His head. All of the tributes are looking over at me and the girl from 6 who were just sprayed with blood.

I guess he wanted the easy way out. My ears ring intensely so much so that I can barely focus on the area around me.

Eleven seconds. I observe my surroundings with narrow eyes. Many tributes are facing away from the ravine; certain it is a death trap. I spot Cowrie and he nods his head at me from six platforms down, the I nod back. He knows the plan. Get down to the Cornucopia and make it ours.

Six. Five. Four. I remind myself to not go. Three. Two. The others get set. One.

Marie, Vigor, Diana, Maitland, Otto, Butch, Detrai, and Miller sprint to the gravelly path, shoving each other apart as they disappear down into the ravine. The rest run into the canopied trees, terrified. I sway my body in circles, jerking around to watch the scene unfold. My eyes are analyzing the trench, searching for safer ways down. There are none.

I set my stance. Three. Two. One. My individual platform beeps and I lunge off, sprinting to the trail on the grassy plain before the trench. No one knows I got extra seconds.

I traverse down, my feet slip, I see Cowrie in front of me. He slips. He doesn't catch himself. He falls. The cannon goes off. Then another. And another. Four dead already. Cowrie is dead.

I don't let myself get distracted, and my feet tangle as I continue down. The Cornucopia gets closer. I sprint faster.

Diana is frisking for something. I stumble to the windless bottom of the canyon, unsure of my next move. Marie kicks Otto into the racing river. The cannon. I swerve away from her.

I avoid any contact with anyone and go straight for a weapon. I hobble inside the mouth, then I snatch a simple dagger on the ground. Maitland pops up behind me, red-faced. She socks me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me, I temporarily curl over. I smack her fat face, grab her hair, and slam her head into a crate. She wildly resists, kicking and punching. I throw a foot at her chest and send her back. She topples over, wipes her bloody forehead, and crawls for a bow and quiver, and charges up the trail foodless, but she doesn't need food when she has the weapon of her choice.

Diana catches my eye. She tosses me a short sword which I fail to catch. I see Marie throw an axe at Vigor. She misses. He runs away, staggering to the behind of the horn.

Campbell swings around the mouth inside and yells at Butch to run away. She hurtles in front of me, searching looking for a knife. She snatches a machete. I hobble over supplies as I try to escape, just enough to get a desirable weapon and a safe spot. She notices me run. She charges at me with her machete but I roll over a chest and onto a bag of apples. She jumps over, pins me down, and slashes her machete across my nose, barely missing my eyes. Butch comes back, rips her off of me, and makes her run away with him. My hand goes to my face to stop blood flow. _It doesn't matter, worry about it later_.

I hear screams, slashes, and gushing from everywhere.

Marie throws an axe. It lodges in Butch's back, throwing him to the ground forcefully. The cannon. Campbell screams and sprints back up the ravine trail, leaving her friend behind.

Vigor is pillaging for anything he can find. He stuffs bread and anything at all into a backpack. I step out of the Cornucopia with my dagger, instigating a fight

It's only Diana, Vigor, Marie and me.

Marie has one last axe, and is circling around Diana who is wielded with tiny knives in both of her hands. Marie throws. Diana throws. Marie misses, but Diana gets a weak slice on Marie's shoulder. Marie realizes her mistake and bolts for a few canteens and the axe she threw on the rocky ground. Diana understands the end of the conflict and retreats, pushing boxes out of the way to find something.

"You okay?" I shout.

"I'm fine!" Diana yells. "Where's Vigor?"

"Somewhere here!"

Marie stumbles back up the trail and onto ground level 100 feet up. It's only Diana, Vigor, and me. I take a deep breath, I'm alive. There are crates and chests and stacks of supplies galore, so I try to find a bandage for my bleeding nose. It stings terribly, but once I find a bandage of use, I strap it on.

Diana runs around the Cornucopia and comes back with Vigor.

"I was just hiding behind it. So I didn't get killed. I have this whole backpack full of stuff," he starts, holding out a stuffed bag. Diana seems concerned about my nose.

"Great. Let's grab everything we want and get out of here. If Maitland comes back she will have the upper ground. She got a bow, too," I start filling a satchel with bandages, dried fruit, and an empty water canteen. I replace my simple knife with a broadsword then wrap the satchel around my shoulder comfortably. The air is still and silent down here, and the only sounds are the waterfall hundreds of feet away and the river that Marie kicked Otto into. Diana has a backpack, too. Before we escape, I fill the canteen in the rushing waters.

"Wait, where's Cowrie?" Diana panics just before we start running back up the ravine.

"He fell down. He died," I say casually, shaking my short hair.

"What?" she shouts.

"The gravel made him slip down the ravine. I think his body went down the river,"

"I swear!" she yells.

"Detrai and the boy from Nine also fell, I saw them," Vigor says.

"Detrai and Miller. Let's converse _while_ we move. C'mon!" I say.

We run up the slippery trail and as we pant, I huff, "Marie killed Otto and Butch,"

"I know. We need to watch out for her," Diana wheezes. The trail takes almost a painful minute to climb, and the rocks get progressively smaller as we reach the ground level.

Back up, the sandy wind hits my face and the sounds of the sky and trees come back. I follow Vigor, the fastest, into the trees. They are only about twice my height and not meant for climbing, but provide some shade from the sun. I can see straight through most of the trees for almost fifty feet. Some have yellow or purple flowers.

"These are acacia trees. Not much safety but good shade in the heat," Vigor puffs. The tall grass pokes at my pants as we run, following Vigor.

What feels like hours later, Vigor stops by a unique, purple tree that is shady and cool. We toss our bags onto the ground. The trees being widely spaced so that the canopy does not close and sufficient light to reaches the ground, lightening the grass.

"I have: Three full water bottles, two bags of dried fruit, half a loaf of bread, some jerky, and a serrated knife, yes," Vigor says, rummaging through his backpack.

"I took a set of knives, a rope, a canteen I filled, and a sheet of metal. I just grabbed it when I saw it. Maybe it could be thrown. Oh, and this pear," Diana analyzes.

"This satchel isn't big, but I got a full canteen, a small bag of dried fruit, a water bottle, and this sword," I hold up my impressive sword. It was a great score.

"This is a lot. Maybe almost four days of food. We may need to refill water, though.

"Don't the champ packs normally hang out at the Cornucopia, yes?" Diana asks.

"Like we agreed, it isn't safe. We would be on the lower ground. And besides, there is only one way up and down," Vigor says, sipping a water bottle.

"You cut your hair," Diana says, looking at me. I feel my new hairdo; it is a whole new experience to not have it swinging around in my face.

"Yeah, I thought it would get in the way,"

"Mine might," Diana says, holding out her long, black hair.

'What happened to your nose?" Vigor asks, pointing to my face.

"Campbell almost killed me," I say, patting my nose.

"Who?"

"The girl from Ten," I say. They must have never took the time to learn everyone's names and skill sets.

"Did you get her?"

"No, she ran away with Butch but then he died,"

We munch on some food and hydrate for a short while, shaded and hidden by the flowering tree. Minutes later, we hear and see someone deeper in the savannah trees. The three of us cautiously get to our feet and watch him.

"Is that a boy?" Diana asks, dropping her water bottle and holding up her knives.

"I think," I watch him run. He is injured, limping as fast as he can go. "He's hurt, want to finish him off? Take him out of his misery?" I ask the two of them.

"Is he dangerous?" Diana says. We look at Vigor who is strangely silent.

"No. He's limping. Let's get him before he can get stronger," I say.

"Where's Misty?" Vigor randomly blurts.

"Oh. I don't know…" Diana realizes.

"She was never down at the Cornucopia," I think.

"Kill now, talk later. Let's just get him," Diana commands, flipping her knife.

Vigor stays behind and watch the stuff, holding his knife tightly. Diana and I crouch as we slowly maneuver through the trees.

"He stopped, he's drinking," Diana observes.

"That means he could have other supplies. Maybe he went to the Cornucopia after we left,"

"It's only been five minutes,"

I volunteer to kill him. The short attention spans of the Capitolians most likely means they have already gotten over the spectacle of Glove blowing up. If I give them a show, maybe they won't get bored and send rabid carnivores in our direction. They would also like to see some more deaths that aren't a result of a dumb cliff.

Diana stays one tree down, watching while I stalk him. As I get closer I identify him as Wattson, the tall boy from 3. He must have abandoned his district partner, Gamma. Then, the booming sound of the cannon goes off. Wattson and I look to the sky, startled by the sound. I check behind me for Diana and she gives me a nod as if to say, "Hurry it up, already!"

I keep moving, slowly, steadily, silently. I have in my hands clutched on my dagger. He is unarmed, distracted by drinking his only water bottle. His leg needs care, but he ignores it.

I circle behind the tree, take a deep breath, glance at Diana, then glance at Wattson. I apologize to him and his family, reminding myself it is him or me.

Shooting my arm out from behind the acacia, I swipe it back into his face. Scuttering to the front of the tree, I kick his shoulder, flopping him to the ground. The knife went directly across his throat, and blood drips from his neck and into his curly, blond hair. _It felt so… horrible._ The cannon. My first kill. My heart aches but my ego grows, I'll have to get used to this.

Diana hops over and smiles, "Nice job. Seven- no, eight down, fifteen to go,"

I look down at him. He was destined to lose, but the horrible pain of killing someone seeps into my mind. It's only my first, and I need to get used to murder. Why can it just be easy? I know that I have no choice.

"Who do you think that other cannon was?" I ask as we tread back to Vigor, careful to find the most hidden route back.

"Probably some weakling from Eleven or Twelve," She says, letting the sun shine on the blade of her knife.

"Maybe Clementine, the tiny weakling from Eleven" I say.

"Do you know _everybody's_ name?"

"I took the few minutes to identify them, but I knew it could come in handy in the arena. That guy I killed was Wattson, District Three,"

"Good thing you know 'er names, I only know a few, yes," Diana says.

"What if it was Misty?" I ask.

"What?"

"The cannon,"

"So be it. I don't think she would go down easily, though. Not like that fool Cowrie. If we find her we'll let her be with us," she says. I guess I wasn't the only one who saw his idiocy. I feel bad, though. His father had high hopes for him, and now he is dead, only to be stuffed in a coffin and shipped back to 4, no matter how mangled and broken.

Vigor successfully protects our stuff from attackers, but not from his appetite. He manages to eat an entire bag of dried fruit in the time we are gone. Instead of getting mad at him, I tell Diana to just forget it. We can always go back and steal more.

We spend the hours of the day learning from Vigor and his immense plant knowledge. He says that in forests like these you can find a plant called prickly pears that are edible and all they need is a good shave and boil to be enjoyed. Some acacia trees' flowers are edible, too.

While Diana enforces a strict eating regime on Vigor, I adventure off in search of edible plants or water sources. I bring back a handful of blueberries I picked.

"I think these are desert blueberries," I say, holding them out to Vigor.

"Desert blueberries don't exist. Do not eat those," He says, picking one up and squishing it between his fingers, "Nightlock berries leave a pigmented, blood-red juice on your fingers when squished, yes,"

I quickly toss them far away; careful no one picks them up again.

"There are a bunch of strange pools scattered around here, mostly where there aren't many dense trees. They are pretty colorful, though, so I wasn't sure they were drinkable," I report.

"You'll have to show them to me tomorrow. For now, let's just get ready for the night," he says. The sun is barely setting, but I know shelter isn't an easy process.

With Diana's large sheet of metal, we form a roof when we prop it above the tree's branches like an overhang. It will provide shade for us in this blistering heat.

The sun sets as we organize our supplies. Weapons to the left, food to the right, and water at the base of the tree. The overhang is six feet in length and width, so it covers all of our supplies nicely. We seem to have a strong base here.

"If it rains, the sand will probably be runny, so it is a good thing that we keep our sleeping and storing area dry," Vigor says.

"There's grass everywhere, though. It'll keep the sand in place,"

"That doesn't mean we want wet earth to sit around in, yes?"

When dusk falls, I pride myself on surviving my first day. I got a kill. I ended a child's life today, but it's what I signed up for. I survived the bloodbath. We retrieved enough resources to keep us fed and hydrated for at least four days. So far, all is well.

Vigor replaces the bandage on my nose as the stars appear in the sky. I only begin to revel in the sight I have never seen before when the same projector appears on the dome capsuling the arena. The Capitol seal is shone brightly in the sky over where I imagine is the Cornucopia. As the anthem plays, the tributes who died today are shown as "The Fallen."

In order of district, I see Wattson. The boy I killed out of sheer choice. His soft, brown eyes and hair seem harmless. What have I done?

Cowrie's tanned face is next. The three of us exchange looks of acceptance. He really is dead. One less mouth to feed, or a lost friend? I remember our thoughtful conversation back in the Training Center.

Both Otto and Detrai from 6. I can imagine the extreme pain that comes when both tributes from your district die on the first day. Though it never happens in One, I understand that all hope is lost in Six.

Glove. The sad boy from 8. He never made eye contact with anyone, and scored a three in his session. I guess he took the easy way out. I glance at a remaining bloodstain on my jacket that I missed when I washed my face off in the river.

Miller. He apparently fell. I never knew him, but what I did know was that he smelled awful.

Butch, the boy Marie murdered with one of her flying axes. Cowrie saw him as a muscular competitor, but now they're both dead. I guess brains won over brawn. I wonder if Campbell was really his friend, or just a taste of home.

I was right. Clementine from 11 was the mysterious cannon shot. I always knew deep down that a small girl like her had no chance.

With an echoing blare, the projection fades and the silent savannah night is all that is left. A few seconds later, a gurgling rumble comes from the distance.

"So it was Clementine," Diana murmurs as she perches herself on a low branch of the tree.

"Yeah,"

"At least Misty's still alive, yes," Vigor says hopefully.

"Well, so are Maitland and Marie. We're not quite safe," I lay my broadsword in the grassy sand, concealing the blade so no one steps on it when it's dark. Lives. Lost. Dead. When Mica died this feeling was strong enough to stab someone.

"We're the pack to watch, so we can make a fire and no one will want to hunt us down, yes?" Vigor asks.

"Well, anyone who wants to kill someone doesn't know it's us until they get here,"

"When they get here we kill them. Easy," Diana says.

"So we _are_ making a fire," Vigor repeats.

"Fine," I submit.

The tall, dry grass of the savannah works as an efficient, flammable substance once Vigor snaps a branch from off the near acacia tree and starts a stick-formed flame. We form a pyramid, like I practiced at the Center, and allow the fire to grow, creating a stream of smoke into the air. This worries me.

"Can we put it out when we go to bed?" I ask.

"Don't be such a scaredy-cat, and yes, we will," Diana says.

"Good,"

In the dark, almost real-looking sky, the smoke acts as a beacon, but we sit around it and enjoy it anyway. Well, enjoy it as much as kids pitted against one another aimed for death can enjoy anything.

The grass and sand on the ground, the smell of smoke, and the radiant heat from the fire make us all comfortable, enough to engage in conversation.

"So, uh, are you guys thinking about tomorrow yet?" I start.

"My goal is just to kill everyone, I mean, we can prepare for survival all we want, but if no one dies we will be here forever. I say we keep moving in search of prey. Even Maitland has no chance against the three of us," Diana says, scrolling her fingers in front of the fire. I notice it is awfully close to the tree.

"She's right, but why don't we gear up and get fed?" Vigor yawns.

"The Gamemakers will get bored. They want constant murder, or else… what if they send a tsunami at us?" I scoff.

"Tsunami from where?" He looks around, "The placid lake from across the canyon?" he retorts.

"They can do _anything_ , you know that,"

"They could also… order a _wolf pack_ on us," Diana giggles.

"The only wolf pack I hope to see here is us," I laugh.

"Margot, tell me about One," Vigor breaks in.

"Um, well… it's pretty cold most of the time, and we mine a lot of gems. There is also a lot of wine and accessory companies. Even though it's a lot of fancy stuff, the place I live is just a neighborhood called the Dominion. I mean, it's a lot of big houses, but I don't live in riches,"

"What is the district animal?"

"Actually," I smile, "It's a peacock,"

"Like what you wore for the parade?" Diana asks,

"Yep. I loved that thing. When I win I'm going to hunt down that dress just to wear it again,"

Diana glares at me.

"What are the colors?"

"Of One? Navy and tangerine, for unknown reasons,"

"Our animal is a black bear, and our colors are evergreen and gold," Vigor adds.

"I think I knew that from somewhere. Black bears are pretty cool, too," I say, opening a bag of dried fruit.

"You know, _Margot_ ," Diana butts in. "You winning implies that we die, and I'm not letting Vigor _or_ me die out here,"

"I wasn't _implying_ you dying. I just am confident in my odds of winning. I am the only one here who got a ten,"

"That doesn't mean you'll win…" she spits.

"Stop it, yes? You guys are getting heated up, I can tell. It's true that at least two of us, unfortunately, _will_ die. Let's just keep each other alive until that happens," Vigor says.

"He's right," I say.

"Yes, he is. But he won't be right if you are gonna _imply_ that we are going to die, yes?" Diana relentlessly bickers onto my meaningless comment.

"Stop it, I just was excited to see my dress!" I beg for her to calm down.

"You're not gonna!" She yells. Her voice spreads into the trees and grass around us, flowing into the night.

"What is wrong with you? I didn't mean it like that!" I interrupt.

"You're going to _die!_ Then it's going to be Vigor and I. We are going to both make it out!"

"You didn't even know him before the Games!" I shout. I just blew their "best friends" act, I can almost feel the hidden cameras watching us, taking in every inch of drama. "When it comes down to you two, one of you is dying! That's it!"

She hobbles across the fire and charges at me, crazed and offended.

"Stop! We can't let a petty comment do this to us!" I scream. She pounces on me and sits on my chest. Vigor runs over, pulling at her body.

"Get off, Vigor! She was a nuisance anyway. She was just a wannabe…" She whispers. Vigor tries to rip her off me, but she shoves him away. "Get off me!"

I squirm and thrash, "Diana, please! What is wrong?"

"You know what's wrong. You think we're wrong. You think we are obstacles," she chuckles. _Technically, you are obstacles._

"I don't! We're a team! We need to find Misty!" I push at her legs, crushing my chest. Vigor watches in fear, but stumbles off.

"Say it! Say you want us dead so we can kill you. You're a traitor!" she has her hands on the pile of nightlock berries I threw on the ground earlier.

"I haven't done anything!"

Vigor appears and swings a knife in front of her neck, stopping just a hair from cutting her.

"Get off, now," he orders. She tightens her neck and looks up at him.

"We can just kill her, like we planned. Then we can win together," she croaks.

"Like you _planned_?"

"We. Did. Not. Plan. Anything," Vigor scowls at Diana.

"Don't act like we didn't. This here blonde fool, you were meant to die," she laughs menacingly. Her black hair is invisible in the darkness.

I can't believe it. All this time I spent earning their trust and beginning to like them. Is this where it ends?

"Get off me! You're going to break my ribs!"

"Diana, I will slice this knife across your neck in a heartbeat if you do not get off of Margot," he stares at her. His knuckles are white and his face is stern. He is serious, and she can tell.

She releases her hands from my shoulders and lifts her body weight off of me. I wheeze and puff, then roll over into the cooled sand. I struggle to breathe as I listen to them.

"Diana, never do that again. You almost killed her over a harmless comment, what was that?"

"It doesn't matter. She knows we wanted to kill her, and now she will never trust us," she hisses.

I can almost see Vigor look at me.

"She won't trust _you_. She knows I don't wanna kill her,"

Actually, he was in on the plan, too. He planned to kill me as well as she did.

"Whatever, just _kill_ her already," Diana scoffs.

"No! I'll take first watch. Go to sleep. No one is killing her,"

I hear a foot kick the fire, and it tumbles down, extinguishing.

"Whatever, don't make her watch us while we sleep, she's a traitor,"

I roll over and sit up. Vigor is holding the knife and Diana is lying on the ground, facing away. I can only make out their bodies in the darkness, but I can see the confusion on Vigor's face.

He steps slowly to me.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to kill you. She scared me into it. Cowrie too. Misty didn't know, I don't think she even planned on sticking with us once she heard we were going to kill you. I swear it wasn't me. I don't know what got into her. Please, please…" he begs.

I huff, "It's fine. Let's just forget this. If you are keeping watch, I'll go to sleep," I am not going to forget those berries.

"I am. Don't sleep to close to Diana,"

I quietly move to the tree and lay down on the sandiest and softest part, away from Diana. As long as she is asleep I can sleep too.

 _What if Vigor is lying? What if he's going to kill you in your sleep?_

This thought leaves me lying on the cold ground, questioning my morals. I watch the sway of the trees and listen to Vigor breathing as he watches the perimeter. _He isn't going to do it, if he wanted to he would have done it by now._

It's been almost three hours when I can finally close my eyes, but seconds pass and Vigor taps my shoulder.

"It's your watch. Wake Diana up since she wanted to be awake when you were, yes?"

"I guess that's fine."

I take the knife from him and silently pick up the berries from the ground once he is asleep. My canteen is across Diana, but I manage to grab it without waking her up. I shove the berries in the mouth, mixing them with the water. Wiping my hands in the sand to get off the berry juice, I wake up Diana. _Keep them entertained_.

"Hey, Diana. Wake up. I'm on watch,"

Silence.

"Diana. Wake up," I tap her leg. She jerks around and chops at my hand, but then looks at me blankly.

"Oh, um, okay," she rolls up and sits in the same place awkwardly: a watcher watching a watcher.

I situate myself by the tree trunk. "So, um. I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to aggravate you. Sorry,"

She exhales, "It's fine. Just. Let's not mention any of our deaths,"

I pretend to take a sip from the canteen, "Want some? I just want to apologize,"

"Thanks, I'll take just a sip. Don't think this makes us happy little buddies again, though," she takes the canteen. She sips it. She swallows.

"I'm sorry too. I just, I planned to kill you because I couldn't stand the thought of bonding with you and then having to murder you. At the Center I tried to keep it shallow between us. You're a strong girl,"

"I could never imagine…"

She coughs.

"You okay?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine,"

She coughs again, then a hack. "Ugh," She curls over into a ball.

"What's wrong? Diana?" I fake.

"My stomach! My chest! It burns!"

"What did you eat?"

"Just that water!" She cries. Her eyes widen for just a second. She realizes something is up.

"Um, uh, what can I do?" I whisper.

"Gah, I don't know. What was in that water?" she wheezes.

"Just what I got from the river," I pretend to panic.

She cries out and groans, reaching for the air.

"Diana!" I whimper. I bend down to her ear and whisper, "Traitor…"

She shakes and her body relaxes and her skin turns red. Her eyes are wide open, and her mouth drips blood.

The cannon.

Vigor jerks awake. "What happened?" he looks around.

"Diana!"

"What?" he rolls over her body. "Diana! What happened?"

"She just doubled over and started wailing! I think the river water was poisoned!"

"She's dead?" he yells. Diana has expanded into inflamed boils.

"Vigor,"

"I drank the river water! Did you kill her?"

"No!"

"You said- but- Margot!" he stammers to his feet and swings an arm at me. "You killed her!"

"I didn't! It was the water!"

He picks up my satchel and starts stuffing everything around him into it.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving!"

"Why?"

"You know why!"

He locks the satchel, picks up a throwing knife, and faces away.

"Don't come looking for me. If I see you I'll kill you," he says, then hobbles off. He never even made me speak my excuse.

Once he runs into the night, I am left alone to regret my actions and ponder my wild emotions. So far, I am the cause of two deaths, I ended two lives: Diana and Wattson. And Vigor left me. Like that, I ended our alliance. What have I done? Were they my best chance at survival, or inevitable enemies?

I can feel the hatred all the way from Districts Three and Two right now, shunning me for killing their tributes. _I am a killer, and I need to not be afraid._ Zenaveve, distraught with confusion, I can sense her asking, "What was she thinking?" And maybe my parents are proud, or horrified to see their young girl a killer. Whatever anyone thinks of me, I can't let that slow me down, no matter how impulsive my actions.

I grab Diana's deformed body and drag it out to a clearing in the trees. I wait until the buzz of an aircraft comes from above. It stops, then deploys a claw to pick up her body. I step back, allowing space for it to be flown away.

I'm all alone. The only sound is the gentle wind and blowing sand hitting the tall grass. I spot a wildflower; the only color I see. I kick the supplies out of anger and cry. The Capitol isn't getting the killer they want; they're getting the truth from a young girl who never wanted to be here.

If they want drama, they are going to get it.


	20. Chapter 20

_In the arena: Day Two_

It took only simple response to make us realize; we never needed each other. Vigor was too smart; a nanny, teaching us like children. Diana was too dangerous; a mindless time bomb, waiting to explode. It was destined to happen; we were never meant to stay together. Vigor needed Diana, I needed Vigor, and Diana needed to die. She was a threat who never trusted me anyway.

Just one sentence to end an alliance, just one campfire to end her life.

I wake up shivering. My shirt is rock-hard from frozen sweat. The sand in the shade is chilling and some is in my hair. I lay, face on the ground, just watching the tiny particles blow by. I outstretch my arm to the sunlit sand, and it almost burns my cold fingers.

With an aching grunt, I prop myself up on one elbow. _Why did he leave his knife?_ I switch my body around, feeling for my sword in the sand. I pat repetitively, sliding it in the grass. _Where is it?_ Then, a realization comes to me. When Vigor was running away. He took it. The small glint from the extraordinary moonlight as he stumbled away in fear and betrayal. I wonder if he is still alive.

Without a sword, I have to settle for a knife. I need to get it back, hunt him down if I have to. That sword was a gem in that Cornucopia, a killer from the start. If I trained for four months on how to use one, I better get one out here.

I roll to my feet, checking to see what else he took. This isn't good, I hope he didn't take much else. There's two full water bottles, that is good. Two dried fruit bags, half of a loaf of bread, and the jerky bag. _Did he take anything else?_ His serrated knife, Diana's canteen, and the sheet of metal I slept under.

I ponder over what he may have taken, even though I have a lucky amount left. My sword… Diana's knives… her rope… the pear… and my satchel plus whatever else was in it. Even in a rush, he still took what he could work with. He is a smart boy. Too bad Diana wasn't as smart, too.

Abandoning the second pack, I hastily put my supplies in the larger, green backpack. The food and canteen go in the front part, the water bottles fit into the side pockets, and the sheet of metal I roll up and put inside the largest part, sticking out of the top. I hold my only weapon, the knife, in my right hand tightly.

 _I need to keep moving, keep them entertained or they'll make it entertaining._

On the move to nowhere, I check the sun's position in the sky. Even though it burns to look near, I can guess it is about noon. From here, the shadows will continue to grow longer.

 _I'm surprised I wasn't brutally assassinated in my sleep, since I laid in the open under a tree surrounded by precious supplies._

I hold the knife tightly and look in all directions: Through tall patches of grass, behind trees, and in the savannah around me. At any moment anyone can be coming from anywhere. I take off my thin coat and tie it tightly around my waist, freeing my arms to unrestricted movement.

I realize a few minutes into walking that my water won't last forever, and that I should direct my trekking to a source of fresh water. Food comes next. I can go longer without it and I have plenty already.

My skin slowly surpasses tanning and starts to burn as I walk, reddening with every second I am in the sun. I hope the place I find water is shaded until I spot a pool of water, just like the ones I found earlier while looking around the area of our base. In fact, there are many other pools nearby, maybe ten. It is roughly the size of the metal sheet, and around it is a flat space of sandstone. I kneel down next to the pool and pull the canteen out of my pack. The water is mostly turquoise, but around the edges it turns the color of rotting squash.

I notice her dipping canteens in the water. Her short blonde hair is just like mine, except it has wavy curls that stop at a flat line. She has at least for canteens hanging from a tree, and she is dipping one in the pool, so it must be safe water. Her face looks different without the makeup, more gentle, but I am well aware she is not gentle. She has killed the same amount of people as me.

She flicks the canteen away and shakes her hand, flicking it in pain. _Is the water hot?_ This is when I notice the small droplets bouncing on the surface of the pool, almost vibrating. The water is definitely hot, maybe boiling, that is why she is hanging up the canteens, to cool down. _But why is it hot?_

Marie carefully submerges the canteen again and then closes the top, hanging it on the tree like a wind chime. Like on the Training Center rooftop. I can see the cut Diana made in her right shoulder, a thin gash is on her shoulder, showing through her shirt.

I am completely absorbed in watching her. Maybe because I am interested in what she I doing, or I am scared that if I'm not looking she'll throw her only axe at me from an impossible hundred feet away. She stands under her tree and her canteens hang on branches that bend over the pool. Her toes are inches from the water.

Just as I am about to start copying her, I hear a deep rumble and look up. It's the same sound I heard after The Fallen projection. Marie looks down at the water. It gurgles again, this time the water in her pool jumps. Mine sits dormant.

Again. She begins to back away, but her canteens are dangling over the pool. Whatever is happening to that water is nothing I would want to stick around for, and for safety, I stand up and back away from mine, at least twenty feet.

She rushes to reach over the pool and take down her canteens, but they are just too far. Her pool bubbles, and a growl emits from the earth. This time, mine growls, too. I step further back, retreating away from the scattered area of sandstone.

Suddenly, her pool erupts with a blasting boom. Then, mine does too. I hear booms come from all of the pools around her. From them tower large pillars of steam and water. The crashing is deafening, and steam floats in the air like tear gas. They're geysers.

The sandstone on the ground around the pools cracks with each second, and they continue to blast water into the sky for thirty deafening seconds. They are almost loud enough to blare out the sound of the cannon.

As the water lowers back into the ground, the steam clears too. I see the tree where she was. There are no canteens anymore, but they must be nearby, though, because I can see her sizzling body on the ground. Even from far away, the steam coming from her boiled, red skin is visible.

If I had not seen her first, I would have ended up like her, fried and dead. I imagine the geysers shot out water high enough to go from the bottom of the canyon to the top.

I run through the geyser plain, they won't erupt for a while now. I get to her body, and she looks horribly disgusting. Her eyes are bulging and a raw pink, and her face looks like her skin was peeled off. Her clothes are melted and torn, and her hair is gone. I cover my nose with my shirt because the smell of steam cooked flesh is not one I enjoy. The pretty girl just got mangled.

Instead of staring at her scalded body, I get on what I came for: anything of hers I can use. As soon as I heard the cannon, cynically, I wanted to see what she had. Unfortunately, the only things she had on her were her axe and… a dead bird wrapped in cloth. It is beyond me how she managed to catch and kill a bird with an axe. It is plucked and tan. It's cooked. She cooked it with the water. Strangely, I now understand the possible advantages to having a deadly and explosive geyser at your use.

I choose my knife over her axe because it is more versatile, and toss the axe into the geyser, maybe it will shoot up and land on someone's head.

The bird I keep wrapped in the cloth and put it in my bag. It reminds me that I have seen almost no wildlife in the arena. I thought I saw a meerkat when we were walking yesterday, but I ignored it because I was worried about finding safety.

My teacher back in the Dominion was fascinated with animals, even though it is illegal to research animals not found in our district. She would be surprised that no animals like zebras or giraffes are here. _Don't jinx it, the next thing you know there could be a lion out here trying to eat you._

I remember the peeling bandage on my nose and decide to put the bird in a pocket by itself without any wrapping, and use the cloth on my nose to wipe it and keep for later. It has scabbed up and has proved to be less deep than I thought it would be.

I leave the steaming, vile body of Marie to be retrieved by the aircraft and start walking in the direction of the ravine. I need to leave these dangerous geysers, and I need to get to that lake across the ravine. There aren't any animals because there is no water for them to drink, and the birds can just fly across the canyon. If I can get to that lake I will have fresh water, and maybe I will find Misty there, fishing for food. All senses tell me to start my way there, but the threat of other people being attracted to the water is a problem. There is also no visible way across from where the platforms were, but maybe there is a way across. They wouldn't make half of the arena inaccessible, right?

The sky begins to turn overcast, creating the first natural shade we have had in the two days here. I recount my supplies as I walk.

Two full water bottles, two dried fruit bags, one half of a loaf of bread, some beef jerky, the serrated knife in my hand, my empty canteen, the sheet of metal poking out of my pack, the bird, and the cloth in my cargo pocket. I should have filled the canteen at the geysers, but I am ten minutes away from them now, and I don't dare return to them unless I have no choice. The water bottles are large, and equal around two quarts. I'm thirsty, and hungry.

I take a break under a purple-flowered tree, perched one branch up, to eat and drink something. With no control, I drink an entire quart of water and a whole bag of dried fruit. These won't last me, not at the rate I need to eat and drink. I haven't gone hungry in my life, and my body isn't ready for that today. The faster I get to that lake, the faster I get water, but I will exhaust faster, too. I question returning to the geysers, but I think I can see the canyon, so I keep moving.

The audience, I can feel the eyes of the watchers around Panem, impatiently waiting for what comes next. The betters for Marie, Diana, Clementine, Wattson, Otto, Butch, Detrai, Cowrie, _and_ Glove are all paying up. Some were promising, but I doubt many people believed in Clementine or Glove. The only people left with a high training score are Campbell, Sequoia, Maitland, Misty, and Vigor. Vigor only got a 7, but he probably has a fire of hatred for me now. I wonder if I will run into him. Maitland tied with me for first place, and I don't think she will be out of the race soon. I imagine I have a lot of betters, though, and most kids from 1 do. 1, 2, 4, 5, and 6 tend to get the most bidders because they are the wealthiest districts and tend to have more winners. If I find Misty we will equal a promising 18, and will be the duo to watch out for. I need to find her before Vigor does, or he'll turn her against me.

I make sure my pack is zipped tightly, my pants are tucked into my boots, and my jacket is tightly knotted around my waist. I have reached the stretch of grassy area where the platforms were just before the canyon, except I must me an entire kilometer westward, if you count the direction we faced at the start as north. My knuckles whiten as I clutch the knife, listening to every sound. The whistle of the grass, brush of the trees, howl of the wind in the canyon. A span of gray slowly covers the sky, promising rain, the one kind of weather I would literally kill for today.

I take a swig from my water and start running. I get to the edge of the canyon and look down. I see the river, white-watered. The Cornucopia is almost invisible far down to my left, and a waterfall from the lake pours into the canyon on my left. I can't see anyone around here, but I spot remnants at the Cornucopia. Maybe I can make a quick move down there and get some more food or water.

 _You're going to regret it when Maitland finds you down there and picks you off like an ant under a magnifying glass._

I retreat into the trees, this time moving eastward toward the trail down to the Cornucopia. I will not let myself starve to death because I was afraid of being found. A brisk walk along the tree line before the open area keeps up my heart rate. It keeps me sharp. Every time I hear a noise I swing my knife in the direction the sound came from. If Misty surprised me right now, I'd probably kill her.

I see the platforms. All 23 of them, strung out in the same semicircle of death you see every year. This arena is clever, keeping people from camping at the Cornucopia, and using the lake as an incentive instead.

The longer I spend pondering my situation, though, the longer I have to get murdered, so I make a break for the trail, just like when I left my platform the first time. The trail. Easier down than up. I slide down, creating an echo of noise from the gravel that reverberates in the canyon. If anyone is down there, they know I'm coming.

I stumble on my feet at the bottom. The river. The horn. The rocks. With a running hobble I make it through the rocky bottom of the canyon and to the horn, running inside. I tell myself I just escaped one of Maitland's arrows to speed myself up.

Panting, I get on it. I check for anything I see. More pears; I take three. Some sort of pills; take them, too. I spot a knife. It's longer than mine and is serrated and sharp. I take that one and then, from twenty feet away, throw Vigor's old blade into the river. If I can't have it, no one can.

Crackers; take them. Water bottle; pack it in. My bag is full, spitting out anything. It's fine, though. I should be fine.

I hear a breath. I hold up my knife. I will kill anyone. I turn around a black chest. Girl. Brown hair. I slash down my sword at her skinny legs. She screams and crawls away behind a crate.

"Who are you?" I demand.

"I-Isabella! Twelve!" she shrieks from behind the crate. I can't see her, but my knife is still in the air, ready to kill. There is an echoing silence where I can hear her gasping for air.

"So you're a Twelvie… do you miss your home? Where you would mine for coal and dive into trashcans for every speck of food you could get?"

"Y-No!" I can hear her crawling away.

"Stop! Do not move!" I shout. "Why should I let you live? Why were you here?"

"I-I was scared to leave… Just let me go and you'll never see me again!" she cries. _I want to, I want to send you back to 12 with a full stomach and a life to live, but that's not going to happen unless I die._

"I won't see you again if I kill you either," I hiss.

With a tumble, she jumps up from the crates and bolts out of the Cornucopia. Her brown hair. Olive skin. She runs like a cat through the rocks and to the trail, scampering up. She'll die out there anyway.

I watch her struggle against the slippery, gravelly trail until she suddenly stops. She falls to her knees. She starts tumbling like a ragdoll. Like a wheel. She falls down. I hear the cannon.

It was an arrow. It was Maitland; I know it.

Her body falls back down to the bottom and rolls into the river.

Maitland is up there. Not on the side I came from, but the side with the lake, the northern half. She just killed Isabella. Her aim, so practiced and quick. I am frozen still in the horn. She won't see me, but if she knows I'm in here she'll find a way down, or wait until I starve weeks later in this cursed horn.

There is no sunlight outside. There is no wind down here. The river seems to fall silent. She is not gone; I can sense it. Her tall, sturdy body would cast a shadow down here if it was sunny, and I would know where she is. Maybe she shot and left, or maybe she is on her way down now.

I risk taking a peek outside at the mouth. I quietly hold my hands on the inside of the Cornucopia as I lean out, looking up and in the direction behind the horn. I see the drop off. I can't see anyone as I trace my gaze along the cliff. She may be invisible now, but that doesn't mean she is gone. Should I run like the girl from 12 did? Or will I end up just like her? Should I wait her out in here?

I take advantage of my situation. I quietly look for any more supplies to replace mine with. It's all useless or just too big. Sleeping bags, canteens, throwing knives, nunchakus. The sheet of metal in my bag keeps on waving, making a loud noise. I consider removing it, but as long as I am in here I should keep it.

Again, I check around the mouth of the Cornucopia. She is nowhere to be seen. She isn't dumb enough to stick around for long, so my hopes rise. _I can get out, just look for another way that isn't a death trap like the trail._

Across a spot where I would have to hop across rocks is something. Another trail. This one is hidden under the rock shelves of the ravine, and looks rockier than gravelly. If Maitland is still here, she won't be able to shoot me since I would be directly under her and protected by the overhanging rocks. Boots knotted, pants tucked, jacket tied, hair out of face.

I swing around the mouth and sprint for the rocks. I bounce across each one. If I fall into the river I am dead. The rocks are wet; I slip. My hands scrape on the rocks underwater when I catch myself. With a hobble I get back up and jump to the path. I run through it far enough for safety and then relax. No arrows came flying at me. She must have left. I sip more water as I sit on a rock. Eat some jerky. I am not quite safe here, but I need to get energized as often as I can.

Step by step, I trek up the path. I don't know where it leads, but it goes up and that is where I want to go. It turns out to be much longer than I thought. Five minutes pass, then ten, and then twenty minutes of hiking under this ravine path engraved in the side. I nurse my water as I move.

The path soon and gradually gains plants, then more grass, and then dirt. It ends. I have moved at least a kilometer to the west, away from the lake. It ends with a hole in the earth by the cliff and I expect to see sunlight but am greeted with the same grey sky. Maybe it is better to have shade.

A cannon. It scares me enough to make me jump. I hear no scream. Maybe it isn't a kill by tribute or mutt. Maybe they couldn't get food in time. I'll know who it was at The Fallen projection at dusk. The same one where I'll see Diana's green eyes scrutinizing me from the sky. Ten left. Ten more obstacles. I have done well, and all I need to do is fight for my life.


End file.
